Hawkeye's Merry Men
by Zarannya
Summary: Nobody ever thinks about what happens to the minions, such as the strike team that accompanied Hawkeye to the Helicarrier. Whatever became of them?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

As if it weren't bad enough that they had a city to rebuild, a flying carrier to refit, and a team of super-powered "cats" to herd, now a new problem was cropping up in regards to Hawkeye's little band of mercenary minions.

They were starting to become a rather large pain in Fury's ass.

Out of the squad of seven men that had accompanied Hawkeye when he assaulted the Helicarrier, three were dead and five had been captured and were currently occupying cells in the Brig until they could transfer them to SHIELD headquarters. The mobile command center was currently heading towards Virginia, limping along until the massive vessel could be put into one of the world's only drydocks large enough to house a carrier.

The mercenaries had been almost completely forgotten about until the Battle of New York had settled down and Fury had received a memo from the Chief Master-At-Arms asking what SHIELD's plans were for the prisoners. Chief Robertson had brought up a good point; resources were spread thin containing the damage as it was, and they just didn't have the manpower to babysit four combat-trained captives.

To follow that memo was the reminder from Intelligence that they hadn't been interrogated yet. The analysts were itching to find out what the men may or may not have known- Barton had pulled from resources currently in opposition to SHIELD, so the goons may have some information that would help in future operations.

Barton was useless for the time being; the man had collapsed from various wounds that had gone ignored from the battle with the Chitauri, including glass shards, a damaged knee, and an as of yet un-confirmed injury to his back after crashing through a window when his perch had been blown out of the sky. After their little impromptu shawarma party, courtesy of Stark, the archer had been been dragged to Medical by his partner where he proceeded to collapse. The agent hadn't woken up yet.

Loki most likely hadn't been kind to his mind-slaves, but whether that was out of ignorance of mortal limitations, forgetfulness, neglect or outright malice was unknown. Both Selvig and Barton had shown signs of sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and dehydration. It was a wonder that either of the two had been functioning at all, much less enough to enter combat and assist in closing an extraterrestrial portal.

The infiltrators had been in much better condition, showing none of the signs of neglect or exhaustion that Barton had, and were relatively healthy aside from the wounds and damage received in the assault. So far, not much was being said by any of the men. Nothing useful, anyway.

They still had to track down the base that the portal had been manufactured in before they all scattered. Based on Selvig's information, there were at least one HYDRA research team, several more "security personnel" and several supply and logistics minions. Unfortunately, his memories of the location itself were spotty at best- he remembered a bunker, or "tomb", with an anti-static chamber and plenty of components scattered around.

Nick Fury wanted that base.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff closed the door to Fury's office behind her as she stepped in. "You asked for me, sir?"

Fury looked up from his paperwork, taking in her tired appearance. The woman hadn't left the medical area for longer than an hour at a time, refusing to leave her partner's side until he woke up. Doctor Osterhouse had no complaints; at least she was staying where they could monitor her in the event a previously undiscovered injury cropped up. Aside from being exhausted after the battle, she hadn't had very many serious injuries. A bruised rib, light concussion, and a twisted ankle received after leaping off the Chitauri air vehicle were Medical's primary concerns.

"Yes," he greeted, "Thank you for coming, Agent Romanoff. I've got a little job for you."  
She straightened up as she shook her head slightly. "With all due respect, Director, Agent Barton is still-"

"In Medical, and likely to be there for a while," he interrupted. "He's not going anywhere anytime soon. This is more important for now."

Her eyes narrowed as she took the forms from the Director's hand. They were reports from the Ops team after they had captured the strike team, listing what details they could about the detained operatives. She read the notes carefully while Fury continued.

"I want you to interrogate them. There were mixed forces in whatever hole Agent Barton found to hide the Tesseract that may be in our best interest to intercept. Selvig hasn't been very useful since his concentration was on building that damn portal, and Barton's off sailing the River Nod. He may not even be able to tell us anything- apparently the memories generated while under the influence were a bit… "

"Unreliable," she finished, closing the folder and tucking it under her arm. "I'll do what I can, sir."

"Quickly - we're losing time here."

The Black Widow exited quietly, leaving Fury to tackle the next crisis that decided to pop up. He was getting too old for this shit.

* * *

_The Brig, Helicarrier Detention Level…_

Alonzo Chavez was bored. They hadn't even left them a deck of cards when they tossed the group of operatives in the Brig.

He and his "teammates" had been stripped of any SHIELD gear and handed grey jumpsuits to wear. It seemed more and more like they weren't going to get much by way of shower and laundry services.

A yell broke him out of his reverie, and the commando observed one of his compatriots being dragged from his cell by a pair of burly master-at-arms and escorted down the passageway. Two more of the others began yelling curses at the retreating figures. Idiots.

Shaking his head, he waited for his turn.

Four hours later, they came for him. Unlike the other flunkies, he knew better than to resist. Oyuki was still recovering from his sore ribs courtesy of the flying tackle by Iron Man and the guy had _still _tried to fight the guards. Chavez himself was still nursing the lump on his head courtesy of the smiling agent in a cheap suit with a big ass gun.

"Stand up and face the wall," the guard barked. Following the orders exactly, he was soon escorted out of the cell as the others had been, rolling his eyes at their jeers. If he didn't know any better, he'd say his escorts were relieved that finally one of them was smartening up about this process.

They continued down the passageway, passing a large, square chamber covered with glass. Their strange and overconfident employer sat morosely within, the lower half of his face covered by a mask of some kind and shackles chaining his wrists together. Apparently, the man had bitten off more than he could chew with his crazy "let's take out SHIELD and take over the world" ploy.

Chavez was used to dealing with the aftermath of madmen's failures to do the same exact thing- it never ceased to amaze him at the sheer amount of them out there. Contract work for groups like HYDRA and A.I.M had jaded him- the only thing that tended to change for him were the locations and silly James Bond-esque contraptions that tended to show up in the labs or secret lairs of the current Villain of The Week.

At least the pay was decent.

Their journey ended at a small interrogation room at the end of the Detention Level passageway. A table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs, one of which was occupied by none other than the infamous Black Widow. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Sit, please," she beckoned, an open folder laying on the table in front of her. She was reading a tablet, her legs crossed and a hand gently tracing the rim of a coffee cup that sat next to a manila folder. The woman continued to read as he sat down. His guards quickly closed the restraint locks over his wrists and ankles.

She was dressed in a thin, stylish violet shirt with black slacks, dress boots, and a light jacket. Setting the tablet down, she leaned back slightly in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. "So, Mr. Chavez, you seem to have quite the record, here."

He sat still, keeping his eyes on the woman in front of him.

"Sergeant Alonzo Chavez. You served five years in the Marines until you received a dishonorable discharge for assaulting an officer, one year in the brig, then two more years bouncing around the southwest. Says here you've been doing quite a bit of work for some rather shady people."

"It pays the bills," he replied.

The Widow finally turned to him, picking up the folder and closing the lid. She stared at him intently, piercing him with grey eyes. They stared at each other for several minutes, sizing each other up.

"You were captured during an attempt to assault and destroy this helicarrier, Mr. Chavez. My suggestion to you is that you answer each question as completely and honestly as you can- it may help you get out of this with minimal repercussions."

Shifting in her chair, she leaned forward slightly. It was time for the opening volley. As he expected, her opening volley was rather straightforward. "We would like to have any information you have on the location of your base as well as any details on personnel and equipment located within.

"I'd like to speak to my commander, please."

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting his response. "Commander. Are you referring to Loki?"

"The man in green?" The former soldier snorted. "He wishes. No, ma'am- I'd like to speak with my _real _CO before I answer any operational questions."

"Feel free to provide the names of your commanders," she responded coolly. "I can forward any questions to them if you like."

Chavez shrugged, remaining silent. There was no way he was giving anything away before the Boss gave him the ok- he was a professional.

"There are a few things I'd like to get your input on. First, would you like to explain how such an upstanding individual as yourself gets hired on to attack SHIELD? You do realize that was probably a suicide mission, correct?"

He shrugged again, smiling lightly as he looked her in the eyes. "Lady, I'm just a hireling. Rent-a-minion, at your service. I just do what I'm told."

Smiling, she leaned back again. "It takes balls to sneak aboard a military vessel, stage a jailbreak and expect to get out alive. Care to enlighten me on how you planned to pull it off? You guys must be very good, or very foolish. I'm wondering which one _you _are."

He cocked his head to the side, chuckling lightly. "Not gonna say a word 'til I speak with my CO."

"There's something else that's bothering you, Chavez. I don't think it's the fact that you're under guard. You haven't fought any transfers and have completely obeyed any instruction given to you so far, so you're not as rebellious as your friends, or you've got more sense than they do."

The former soldier remained quiet, his eyes dodging around him slightly, giving away a sense of nervousness. She was good- the agent had read him like a book in an instant. Based on what the stories about her said, she was going to find out what she wanted anyway whether he knew it or not- why not make things easier?

He decided to take a chance and ask what had been on his mind since waking up in the Brig. "Ma'am, is he alright? Hawkeye, I mean."

She fixed him with a stare. Chavez shifted around to face her, his curiosity and worry getting the better of him. He sighed in resignation. "He's my CO. Something… something's wrong with him. He and the doctor, both."

Her face reminded him of a porcelain doll in its stillness. Another nod had him sitting back in his chair. "You're worried about the man that led you on a failed assault."

"He's a good CO. If he's not here with us, it means he was undercover or killed. It would be a shame if he were killed."

"He's still alive. You mentioned that something's was wrong with him. Care to elaborate?" Natasha smiled inwardly; he had just given her the angle she needed. This one would be easier to crack than the others. Not that she minded- this one may even be salvageable, if one were to go off of his apparent loyalty.

"His eyes. Both him and the physics guy that was building, well, whatever it was. Their eyes were, I dunno- weird. I've never seen anyone with eyes that bright… like they glowed or something. He… he was like a damn _machine_," he admitted. "He didn't eat or sleep- it's like nothing else mattered but that damn cube thing and the green man."

"Loki."

"Whatever, lady. Ma'am. He dressed in green armor with a funky helmet, and he was more of a _client_. Outside of his archaic dialogue, he didn't really seem that different than any of the other wierdos that I've worked for."

"Why the concern for Hawkeye, then? You don't seem to have much concern for the others, or for your _employer_."

"Like I said- he's a good CO. It was just odd- the Boss would be working on one project after the other. Planning, setup, blueprint retrieval- the works. The creepy thing was," he shuddered, "If the client told him to do something, he did it, but with more than just the old 'I say jump, you say how high' bullshit. No, ma'am- this was different."

"Go on," she encouraged.

"I got onsite I think the same day as the science crew- I was one of the escorts. The plan was that I was supposed to go back with the rest, but he asked me to stay on to help him out. I agreed. He looked pretty worn out by the second day, and I figured he was just tired from working on those arrows of his as well as bringing in the equipment. He said something to Loki, and the guy just said 'You can forget about sleep, forget about eating- we do not rest until we are done' or some shit like that."

Natasha continued to note the information as the young man shook his head, his words speeding up as he recounted the last few days. "The funny thing was, that's just what happened. We all rotated shifts and ate, took breaks, the like… but the Boss didn't. I've got some medic training, so I said to him, 'Boss-man, you gotta take it easy- take a break,' and he just looked at me with those freaky-blue eyes, like he was looking right through me and then he'd go do whatever it is he thought he needed to do. There's a time when you follow orders to a tee, but this was ridiculous. _Nobody _follows orders like that- it goes beyond common sense!"

Her next thought was interrupted by a light beep from her tablet. She read the message quickly, picking up the device to obscure it from the others. _Hawkeye's awake- get down to Medical ASAP._"I need to step out for a few. Keep him here."

The guard nodded as she left the room.

* * *

"Will you get _off _me, asshole?" A familiar snarl greeted her as she entered the Medical ward, announcing that her partner had in fact woken up. "Get that thing away from me before I shove it up your-"

"Stand down, Hawkeye," Natasha commanded with a smile. "They're only doing their jobs."

"Easy for you to say, Nat. You haven't been stuck like a pincushion for the last fifteen minutes- get away from me, you fucking _vampire_!" Clint tugged at the restraints again. The young intern holding a syringe and butterfly needle jumped back as he jerked his hands back and forth, testing the cuffs. A sharp glare sent the medic scurrying away to the safety of the hallway. "Goddamn restraints… "

"Oh thank heavens," Natasha heard from behind her. She turned to find Dr. Osterhouse approaching, clipboard in hand and making a sigh of relief as he approached. "Thank you for coming, Agent Romanoff- he's been a bit cranky since he woke up."

"Cranky? I'll give you _cranky_-"

"Clint. Shut up," she ordered as she approached the bed to stand next to her partner, watching in satisfaction as he pursed his lips in frustration and fell back tiredly against the bed. Turning back to Clint's doctor, she put her best bullshit smile on her face. "Thank you for looking after him, Doctor. He's always a bit difficult when he's been out for so long."

Shaking his head, the doctor chuckled lightly and pulled a penlight out of his coat pocket. "Oh, don't you worry, my dear. I'm a bit used to his shenanigans. Now, young man, please calm down while I check your pupils."

The aging doctor proceeded to give the agent a thorough check-up now that he had awoken, constantly advising him of each check and test before proceeding. Clint visibly relaxed as the minor checks were conducted. Doctor Osterhouse had been his physician for years, and had long ago learned to key to handling jumpy patients.

"Any chance of getting these off," Barton asked roughly, pulling lightly with a tug. "I promise to be good, Doc."

"I don't know. Just ten minutes ago, you were threatening my intern with bodily harm," the doctor chided, patting the younger man on the arm before turning around to reach for the syringe. "Really, if he stays in the Operations ward, it'll be a miracle. I'm getting rather tired of having to re-acquire personnel after you've traumatized them."

The agent snorted. "Couple of new guys can't be that bad. Maybe you need to hire ones with more intestinal fortitude."

"Seven this year alone, Agent Barton. _Seven_."

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Natasha's laugh startled him. He sighed in resignation. Doctor Osterhouse merely smiled and finished his exam, quietly taking his leave while writing on the clipboard.

"Clint," she spoke, getting his attention again. "We need to get what information we can now that the overall battle is over. Fury wants your base before anyone has a chance to clear it out. I've been interrogating your little crew, but so far they haven't given me anything to work with that we haven't already found out."

"Weird. You can usually get them to talk within five minutes. I'm sorry, Nat- for some reason I can't remember where we were. It was a bunker of some sort."

She nodded lightly. Pulling up a chair, she sat herself down and held the tablet in front of her, the pictures of the captured strike team showing prominently on the screen. "These are the men that came with you. Can you tell me anything about them?"

His brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the men on the screen. Blue eyes scanned back and forth as he tried to pull up what information he could. "Strike team, I think. Borrowed some from Latveria, maybe Hydra. Definitely Hydra on the last three- I think I remember meeting up with most of them at the field base in Idaho. We picked up the Quinjet there."

"Do you think they'd be able to point us at the base's location?"

"No. There were five others- they came with me, I believe, as well as that one. The rest we picked up after hitting the SHIELD base." He pointed as best he could at the picture of Chavez. "Those five I brought from the hideout."

A memory flared at that point, of Selvig and Loki and a dark, dismal room. Yellow light filled the corridors with the exception of the central chamber, which was much brighter due to the Tesseract and the portal device.

_"Stick in the mud- he's got no soul! No wonder you chose this- this _tomb_ to work in!" Doctor Selvig smiled cheerily at Loki as he manipulated another sensor, having just finished telling Loki about his opinion of the Tesseract's greatness while Barton had handed his laptop off to Chavez._

_The assassin's tired, pale face glared at Selvig in annoyance. The physicist had never liked him much, thinking him nothing but a soulless bully and automaton that knew nothing more than how to dangle from Fury's puppet strings. He couldn't help but respond._

_"Well the _Radisson_ doesn't have three levels of lead-lined flooring between SHIELD, and this cube," he spat, watching as Selvig turned back to his work, smiling oddly in acknowledgement and shrugging as if to say, "Point taken!"_

"Clint. _Clint_." He looked up at Natasha, who was snapping her fingers and trying to get his attention. "You zoned out. Do I need to get the doctor?"

Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Remembered something, I think. Selvig and Loki were talking about the cube. He mentioned the place was kind of like a tomb. It had three levels of lead-lined flooring, so it may have been a radiation bunker or something. It was old- maybe World-War era. There were tunnels, and a central chamber."

"Good. Anything more?" She typed up the details in a message, preparing to send it to Fury.

"Yeah. One of the four here," he pointed to the pictures again, "I think should be able to tell you which one, or at least rule out the rest. I can't remember much else to be honest, but _that _one should have that intel."

He was pointing to Chavez. Natasha smiled. "I think you may have a fan, Hawkeye."

"Excuse me?" He cocked his head at her in confusion, his eyes widening.

"These three are dead. The four other helpers you brought in are in the Brig, and what they've given has been useless. This one, however," she tapped the screen, enlarging the file on Chavez, "This one has been refusing to give anything up until he 'speaks with his CO.'"

"He's a good soldier, that much I do know," Hawkeye shrugged. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Though this isn't exactly a name-rank-serial number situation. I'm pretty sure I picked him up for a reason."

"Do you think he'll talk if you call from Medical? I'm not sure they're going to release you so soon."

He shrugged. "Not likely. I'm probably gonna get tossed into The Raft for this, you know that. They won't let me out of here anytime soon, and if the kid's refusing to talk to _you _of all people, he's not going to just accept a phone call and assume that it's me talking without a gun pointed at my head or something."

"You know Fury won't lock you up, Clint. You were brainwashed," his partner argued with a frown.

"Won't lock me up? Nat have you even _looked _around this place? There's no way they'll simply slap me on the wrist for something this big," he laughed bitterly. "Not to mention I wouldn't make it very far- not with how many I kill-"

"I told you, don't do this to yourself," she interrupted, taking his hand and squeezing gently. They had been expecting a meltdown after the dust had settled, and it looked like it was finally time for it to happen. He tightened his grip on hers, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Natasha cursed inwardly; Loki would pay, but not today. Not while her partner needed her.

* * *

Four agents walked down the passageway, heading once again for the interrogation room.

"I still can't believe he actually turned me loose," Barton murmured to his partner as she walked next to him. Well, he had been released into Natasha's custody and required a minimum of two escorts from Special Ops, but still- didn't Fury see that he was a security risk?

The Ops escorts snickered quietly as they accompanied Strike Team Delta. They knew they weren't needed, but if it made the higher-ups happy, they would happily trail their buddies on something mundane like an interrogation.

"He's in here," she motioned, opening the door. The escorts remained in the hallway as Barton and Romanoff entered the room. One of the guards left to locate another chair.

Chavez held in the sigh of relief when he watched Agents Barton and Romanoff enter the room. His commander appeared to be tired, but more rested than he had been the last few days before they left the base. As the agent fixed him with a steely gaze, he noticed something else.

His eyes were blue again- the correct blue. No bright, glowing marbly-blue.

"Sir," he reported. The other man nodded in greeting, sitting in another chair after one of the guards returned from a supply room.

"So, Chavez," Romanoff started, "We'd like you to share with us everything you know about the base."

He looked over to Hawkeye, who gave him a nod. "Alright, ma'am. What would you like to know?"

* * *

_Fury's Office…_

"And there you have it, Sir," Natasha finished. "We should be able to catch up to any remnants if the strike teams leave within the hour."

"You sure this guy's on the up and up?"

She nodded. "Yes sir. The prisoner is former military, and from his record only got out due to some fallout from a mission that went bad. He knew Hawkeye from an op in Afghanistan- the one where Agent Barton was sent to locate a missing Marine Recon unit and wound up taking over the platoon. Apparently their leader turned on them and Hawkeye had to lead them out of the mountains. Chavez seems to be just a guy that keeps getting stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You seem to be impressed, Agent Romanoff."

"This operative," she advised as she tapped the file, "was the only one of the lot to show any loyalty, and once Hawkeye gave him a single nod, gave us what we needed to know. He's not loyal to his old employers- he gave us too much for that. What I can see is that he's loyal to Hawkeye. If we give him a leader he can respect, and an upstanding group to work for, I think he could turn his life around and become a good agent."

He scoffed, taking the tablet and poring over the file himself. "You mean to tell my you wanna _recruit _this kid?"

"Yes sir," Romanoff replied, standing firm.

"With his record?"

"Yes sir. To be frank, we're no angels ourselves. You know my history, and you recruited Clint from Death Row in a federal penitentiary."

"Touché," he admitted. "I'll look it over and talk to him myself. We'll see if the kid's SHIELD material."

"Thank you, Director."

"Good work, Agent," Fury praised. "I knew you'd take care of it. We'll send Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner to join the strike teams to make sure there are no problems. I don't want Agent Barton leaving our custody just yet- he still needs to talk to Psych, and I don't want the Council jumping the gun."

"Will Dr. Banner be willing to go? We did promise him that he was free to leave once the Tesseract was found," she argued. "I'd rather he not get… _upset_… if we ask him for any more favors."

"That's why we'll be posing a formal request to him asking for his scientific expertise. Stark's out of commission for a little bit, per his CEO, and we don't have anyone else that even comes close to understanding Tesseract technology that hasn't been traumatized, killed, or had their brain turned into a flying monkey. Selvig is still under observation in Medical as well, and he's a civilian with little to no combat ability."

He had a point. She nodded in agreement. "Thor is still here. We may be able to have him join Captain Rogers?"

"Good point. Go ahead and ask him," Fury agreed. "His brother is in custody, so a short trip shouldn't be too much of a risk."

"What about me, sir?"

Fury fixed her with a solemn stare, his eye meeting hers. "Frankly, I'd rather have you here. Coulson's not here now to talk sense into Hawkeye, and he's gonna need you more than the raid will. I don't want to lose any more agents, especially an asset like Agent Barton. More than anyone else now, he trusts you. The man may be a pain in the ass, but he's _our _pain in the ass, and he's gonna have a pretty rough road ahead to get over this brainwashing crap."

"Why sir, I didn't know you cared."

"Just don't spread it around," he retorted, pointing at her with a pen. "I got a _rep _to uphold, ya know."

"Understood," she replied with a smile.

"Dismissed."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

_Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.  
_

* * *

_Helicarrier Bridge…_

The lights were flickering again.

Agent Maria Hill sighed, pinching her nose in frustration. Four days had passed and they were still fighting remnants of the virus that one of their best agents had planted in the carrier's control systems. Not that he could be blamed, to an extent, since he was being mind-controlled at the time.

That still didn't mean she couldn't fantasize about punting him over the side while they were in mid-air over the Atlantic.

"Status report," she called, turning to the row of technicians that were scrambling at their consoles. Wiring was strewn across the deck, small monitors clamped onto various test points and scopes with various shapes, lines and monitor readings lay scattered about the area. An engineering crew held on to a ladder as one of the welders continued cutting through the damaged bulkhead to replace the paneling that the explosive arrow had punched a hole through.

One of the lead techs cursed loudly as he jerked his hands back, a small spark arcing from the wire leads. "Shit! There goes another one."

As if in response to his comment, the lights dimmed. A hum filled the air as the banks of monitor screens blacked out. There was a shift beneath everyone's feet as Engine Number Three decided to slow down again. The welder quickly grabbed the bulkhead he had been working on with a yelp, holding on to it and the ladder for dear life.

Without warning, the lights brightened up again as the ship rolled back into position, the errant engine turbine spinning up again. A crack from behind her reported that Technician Porter's coffee mug had sailed across the console and landed on the deck.

_Great,_ Hill thought. _Now we have coffee _and _scorch marks to scrub_.

"We can't keep this up, ma'am," one of the techs advised gravely. "Number 3 keeps hiccupping, and Number four is trying to shut down as well. The virus is spreading, I think."

"I thought you had this thing contained," she replied gruffly as the door to Fury's office opened. The Director stalked out of the room and onto the bridge with a large frown.

"Hill," he barked, "just what the _hell_ is going on? Why is my carrier still falling out of the air?"

She sighed. "It's the virus, sir. It's trying to break containment, and seems to still be affecting the control systems. Two engines are at questionable capacity."

"How long will it be before you get rid of it, Hill?"

"We don't know at this time. "

"We really need to take the carrier down to the surface- we're approaching the coast of Virginia anyway, and it's not like the reflective screens have been doing much good seeing as they're fritzing in and out. At least if we're on the water, we don't have to worry about crashing." He turned around, heading for the exit.

"What about the virus, sir?"

He stopped just short of the door. "Let's get down to the water once the damage control teams report the shoring is complete, first- then we'll worry about the virus. Tell Barton to get his ass up here- it's _his_ bug, he can _damn _well fix it himself."

Shaking her head, she returned to watch over the techs and machinists, all of whom were scrambling to keep the carrier from hitting the surface the hard way.

* * *

_The Brig, Helicarrier Detention Level…_

"You gotta be _kiddin_' me, man!" One of the Twins whined again, loudly. "We're all gonna freakin' _die_!"

"Will you just shaddup already," growled another prisoner, Oyuki from the sound of it. The injured operative groaned, clutching to his taped ribs. Medical had sent a team down to finally take a look at the wounded infiltrators, at least. SHIELD apparently did have some sense of mercy, contrary to popular belief.

Chavez gave a worried look upwards as the ship righted itself and the lights returned to normal. This wasn't good- these little dips and dives had been happening as long as they had been captured. They had done more damage than they thought, apparently. Judging by the nervous looks on the master-at-arms standing guard at the end of the hallway, he didn't think his guess was far off of the mark.

"Relax, Jed," he told the worried Twin. "They'll keep us up. The damn boat hasn't failed yet."

"But for how _long_, man?" The other Twin was squawking now, pacing nervously in his own cell. From this angle, he couldn't see whether it was Jed or Zed. Oh well.

Laying back down, he turned his head to look at his teammate. "Carl, man- you okay?"

The other man nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah… yeah. Just… wasn't ready for that dip, you know?

"Yeah," he agreed. A door opened again, admitting a tall, black man wearing a black uniform, aleather duster and an eyepatch. He spoke to the master-at-arms, and walked down the passageway slowly, heading their direction.

Nick Fury. The SHIELD Director and head ass-kicker in charge.

The tall man slowly walked down the corridor, turning his head to stare at each cell occupant as if inspecting a prized exhibit at a zoo. His face seemed to be permanently etched in a scowl as he stopped and turned around, finally completing his inspection.

The Twins has predictably darted into the back corners of their cells, muttering about peg legs, parrots and scurvy. Chavez stifled a laugh; the two little psychos were entertaining to watch, at least. The one-eyed man was not amused, and he turned to fix the operative with a glare.

"Him. Interrogation Room Two, Chief."

The head guard that had followed Fury in nodded, reaching for his card key. Chavez rolled his eyes, placing his hands behind his head in a practiced motion. The Chief stepped in and pulled his hands down one at a time, snapping handcuffs onto his wrists.

There were no jeers or snarky comments from the peanut gallery this time, he noted as the Chief led him out of his cell and towards the designated room. Fury was waiting for them, and nodded as the guard released the cuffs and secured him to the chair.

"So," Fury began, pulling a familiar looking data tablet out of his coat, "care to tell me why one of my best agents is asking me to do a fitness eval for potential recruitment on one of the _assholes_ that tried to sink my boat?"

"Technically, I don't think it's really a boat, sir," Chavez countered. "It's really more of a ship."

"Do I look like I give a shit about technicalities, kid?"

Alonzo fell silent. This might not be the best time for jokes. He watched as the Director pulled up his file, taking several minutes to read it before looking up at him again.

"Your record here says you're a good soldier. Marine Force Recon, and a sergeant within five years. Two years away from a Bachelor's in Linguistics, and even some medical training on the side. You're a smart guy, Chavez, so how the hell can you be so _stupid_?" The older man shook his head in frustration.

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

Fury fixed him with a stare.

Chavez shrugged in resignation. "It happens a lot."

"I'm bet it does. It happen in Afghanistan too?" Fury leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on to the table.

He shrugged again. After Fury motioned him to continue, he took a deep breath as he dredged up memories that he had tried so hard to forget.

* * *

"What the hell _happened_, Sarge?" A tired voice croaked, almost hidden amongst the moans and complaints of the other six men that shared the enclosure with him. Chavez blinked his eyes, trying to clear the proverbial cobwebs from his mind. Reaching up to touch his forehead, his hand was halted by a metal cuff and chain that was wrapped around a metal support post.

His eyes darted around taking in the sight of his squad scattered around the room. They were similarly chained, though some looked a bit more ragged than others. Each was still dressed in their camouflage, but the extra gear had been removed along with their weaponry.

The headcount was off. "Shit. The LT. Where's the Lieutenant?"

Multiple negative shrugs responded as the other men began to wake up. The lieutenant from Military Intelligence that had been sent out with their squad was apparently MIA- that, or in the hands of the enemy. If the whole squad had been captured, that meant that whoever had caught them most likely had the experimental surveillance rig that they were supposed to be testing.

Delaney, the stuffed shirt that had brought the test rig from Stark Industries, was going to murder him if they lost that gear. Another thought came up; who in the hell had enough firepower to take on a squad of Force Recon, for that matter?

His question was answered in the form of a rather grotesque man who gloated about their capture. The smelly little man, who introduced himself as "Simon" from the Ten Rings organization, gleefully recounted how their new lieutenant had willfully abandoned the squad after trying to make off with the surveillance equipment when the squad camped for the night. Until further notice, the Marines would remain the guests of the Ten Rings encampment.

* * *

"So your LT lead you into a trap," Fury repeated, shaking his head. "The records are a bit spotty on exactly what happened out there."

"Trap, you say." Chavez snorted. "Bastard led us right into an ambush. We warned him that the intel said Ten Rings was in the area, but he ordered us to make camp. Someone lobbed a couple of gas grenades into the area while most of us were asleep. We found out the two guys on watch had been taken out with a knife and a silenced pistol. My money's on the LT for all of it. Next thing we know, we're getting creamed by insurgents armed with grenades and automatic weapons. They took down half the squad and the rest of us… well, we woke up in a damn cave."

"The rest we know from there," the Director nodded. "Hawkeye made a rather extensive report on that little fiasco. Says you boys did good work out there, considering the circumstances."

"Half my squad was killed, sir. The rest were beaten or tortured. The only thing we did _right_ was not giving up the access code for the tech that we were testing."

Fury let out a long breath. "Son, your men were betrayed, but you held your cool, and you got your squad home one way or another. That's the important thing. You can't always account for treachery," he advised sadly. "The fact that the device was secured was a bonus."

"So you say."

"Let's move on to something else, like the fight that got you booted out of the Corps."

Chavez gave the other man a wry grin. "Mr. Delaney was disparaging my men, sir. We had just limped back home, and all that prick could think about was that there were three scratches on the test rig casing. Said it was inexcusable… that we had been '_overly careless_' with a prized Stark Industries prototype, and that if we apes couldn't be trusted to handle their gear, they would pull the contract. I was a bit… _upset_. The asshole wouldn't get out of our faces, so I broke his."

"You broke three ribs, tore his ACL ligament, cracked his jaw and gave him a concussion. I'd say you were more than a little upset," the Director retorted with a smile. Clearly he was amused by the retelling, having met the insufferable industry representative. Barton's report had matched up with Chavez's story so far, so he was inclined to side the former Marine.

"He deserved it."

"Probably. The unfortunate part in this is the fact that he's a civilian contractor, and the officer whose ass you kicked when they tried to stop you was apparently well connected enough to get you a BCD after time in the Brig," Fury drawled. "So you turn from rising star to, what was it you told Agent Romanov, a 'rent-a-minion'. You know, I kinda like it."

"To each their own." He smiled, glad that the man sitting across from him was smiling, and not frowning at the moment. The more relaxed the Director was, the less chance he was going to shoot Chavez.

"So," the spy of spies continued, tapping a corner of the tablet onto the table. "Let's get down to the point here. You've been on our recruitment list ever since Afghanistan, but due to some idiot down in HR not understanding what a situational override request means when they do the standard background check, you got flagged due to your Bad Conduct Discharge."

Chavez stared at Fury in confusion. "I don't understand, sir."

"What I'm trying to say, son, is that aside from a few shitty choices that seem to have kept you in the association of some bad elements, you still have the potential to turn things around. To be more than just a grunt working a late shift for the next moronic villain that decides to try to take over the world with some stupid ass plot device from a bad comic book."

He leaned forward, setting the tablet down and steepling his fingers. "What I'm saying, Chavez, is that I'd like to extend you the offer that the HR idiots should have two years ago. How would you like to come work for SHIELD?"

* * *

_Helicarrier Bridge…_

First the engines can't stop trying to shut themselves down, and now the power plants were rebelling. Hill cursed, watching as the techs frantically tried to stabilize the power grid.

There was an audible whine as the power plant activated. The lights brightened to full illuminate, the monitors blinked back on with diagnostic text scrolling along the screen, and the slight shudders from the engines began to smooth out as the carrier descended.

A quick cheer rose up from the cluster of engineers, and more than one breathed a sigh of relief. A console sparked again, followed by the lights dimming yet again, and the ship began to sputter. The cheer turned to a groan as they scurried back to their stations to try to stabilize the systems again.

The door to the bridge slid open, revealing Agent Barton and his ever- present escorts. He had a confused look on his face as he took in the chaotic surroundings. "What the hell, Hill? Fury said you needed me on the bridge."

"Yes, unfortunately," she snapped, an arm swinging out to point out the mess. "_You_ broke it, _you_ get to help fix it."

His eyes widened. "Uh, _excuse_ me? I'm not a fucking engineer."

"Bullshit - you're close enough, apparently. It was a specialized arrow that delivered a virus to shut everything down, Barton. An _arrow_," Hill growled. "You may not have set up the whole thing, but you _cannot_ tell me you didn't have a hand in creating it."

"I… I don't remember," he stuttered, a stricken look on his face. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "_What_? I don't… Hill- you _honestly_ think I wouldn't tell you if I did?"

He tried to conceal the look of hurt from crossing his face as she just glared at him and walked away.

His escorts stayed a few feet back, bewildered looks betraying that they felt completely out of place. One stepped back again, dodging a tech as she scurried over to a power console, squeaking a quiet, "Excuse me, please."

"Well, you had better start remembering fast," Hill ordered, "because with the lowered power levels, the engines could shut down any minute and if they do, we're all _dead_."

He rubbed his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall any details about the virus. "Wait. Wait. One of the guys in the Brig. The bald one- Reagan, I think. Get him up here."

One of the escorts touched his ear, speaking quietly into the comm as he relayed the order. Hill paced nervously as the ship shuddered again. They began to descend faster than they had planned as the engines began to struggle.

Shouts filled the room as the techs barked orders to the engineers and vice versa. Hawkeye stood amongst the mess, trying to make sense of what they were saying. Some things oddly began to make sense, but others flew over his head.

Running a hand through his hair nervously, he moved to one of the spare terminals, bringing up the command console. Clenching his hands, he began to sweat as the carrier swerved again. Sparks flew from the wires hanging overhead as more of the conduits overloaded.

"You gotta be kidding me," he muttered as he began typing commands. Behind him, the doors opened. A pair of master-at-arms entered with one of the prisoners in tow. The bald man clutched a small equipment bag and gaped at the sight of the repairs in progress. Hawkeye spared him a glance, then beckoned him over with a quick jerk of his head.

Peter Reagan was not an easily overawed man. He had gotten by for years rolling with the punches and playing the hand he was dealt, biding his time until the correct opportunity presented itself. He hadn't been on the bridge team during the earlier assault, so he hadn't been privy to the high tech wonders that lay within.

Sitting at one of the terminals with Hawkeye was a pair of techs in blue lab coats, each pointing at the screen and arguing strongly. The great ship shuddered again. Clutching his bag tighter, Reagan stumbled over to his former leader.

"Hey, Boss- I guess this explains why you sprung me," the electronics expert chuckled weakly.

The SHIELD agent turned to look him in the eye. His eyes were no longer the marbled blue effect that had made him nervous during their time in the Tomb. He looked… human again. Reagan sighed in relief. Stepping closer, he dodged the pair of bickering programmers as they debated which code to use to try to isolate whatever it is they suspected of causing the mess.

"Can you fix it?" Hawkeye asked, his worried eyes pleading with him. "I can't do this by myself."

Reagan stood straighter. "Sir, this is your code. I've got no idea what you wrote."

One of the techs broke off his argument to gape at the two operative, his eyes shifting back to Barton in disdain. "But… but Agent Barton isn't a _tech_- he's a _field_ agent."

"Field agent," Reagan snapped, frowning at the programmers as he pulled open the satchel and began digging for his flash drives, "does not equate idiot. Here, Bossman, move over and let me take a look?"

Throwing his hands up, Barton jumped out of the seat, making room for Reagan. The field tech began scrolling upwards to examine the commands entered previously. He tutted as he began typing his own set of commands. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a small flash drive and handed it to the other tech. "Plug that in, will ya? Geez, Boss- you really did a number on this system. It'll take weeks for a good programmer to work the kinks out."

The senior tech trotted back over after putting the drive into the nearest port. "This had better not be a trap, or we're all dead. The chief engineer is estimating fifteen minutes before we lose altitude."

Examining the code scrolling up and down on the screen, the SHIELD technician scoffed. "You said it would take a week to fix it."

"I said it would take a good programmer a week," Reagan corrected. "Lucky for you, I happen to be a _great_ one. Hot _damn,_ I've always wanted to say that line!"

As he furiously typed and loaded algorithms to combat the virus, the lead tech turned back to Hawkeye, who shrugged. "You're _sure_ he can help?"

"Not a damn clue. I had to have picked him up for some reason though."

More klaxons sounded as Reagan hooted. Kopersky, the lead tech, had had enough. "Oh bloody hell. _Now _what? You have to be able to understand this, because _I_ don't!"

"I told you guys, I don't _remember_!" Hawkeye snarled, getting tired of the third degree. Whipping around, he moved to the other side of the console to get a better look.

"See, Boss? This line of code," the techno wiz pointed a finger at the screen, "is where the base code shifts to the specialty code for the control systems. We went over this in the Tomb, sir- you remember?"

His former "boss" shook his head, but peeked closer at the screen. His brow furrowed in concentration as he stared. Reagan recognized it as his "thinking face"- he had seen it often enough when the man was concentrating on his new arrows and when they were working on the virus. He also recognized the spark as Barton's face relaxed- he had remembered something.

Barton tentatively reached out and typed in a quick command. "The scary thing is, Pete, I think this shit is starting to make sense now."

Reagan grinned, vacating the chair and opening his precious laptop. He began plugging in another flash drive and watched as the agent began picking up typing speed. Barton gave a small huff as he focused on the screen. Looking back down at his own computer, the field tech finished typing and saved the small batch file to the flash drive, then passed it again to the SHIELD programmers.

"Here. Run this batch file once he completes the shutdown sequence." The other techs nodded numbly, bumping into each other in their hurry to get to another data port. Hawkeye put what looked to be the finishing touch on his code, and took a deep breath as he tapped the Enter key.

All around them, the lights dimmed. There was an audible groan, followed by a whine as the lights flared back on. The deck bucked slightly as the engines fired, picking up speed and altitude. There was no sign of instability- no lights flickering, no sparks, and best of all, the deck seemed to level out. They watched in relief as the carrier rose, staring out the window as the clouds passed.

"That is _so_ awesome." Reagan said, looking up at Barton from his seat. "Why _did_ you want to blow it up again?"

* * *

_Director Fury's Office, Later that day…_

"You want to _what_?" Nick Fury growled. "Have the constant altitude changes over the past few days damaged your thought process, Hill?"

"Kopersky won't shut up about him, sir. He wants to hug him and squeeze him and name him George. Or something." She straightened to attention, staring him in the eye. "There was a comment along the lines of having his children, but I think that would be anatomically impossible."

The director slumped forward, his hand now propping his head up in exasperation. "So now _you_ want to take in one of the strays too?"

"Not me," she deadpanned. "Kopersky. The tech department has already submitted a formal request for recruitment. Judging by the fact that he fixed in five minutes what we couldn't fix in five _days_, I'm inclined to agree."

"Just get out of here, Hill."

"Yes sir." Hill turned on her heel and exited, leaving Fury shaking his head in amusement. He pulled his tablet out of the desk drawer and pulled up the dossiers on the other prisoners. If two out of the five left were good enough that two of his senior agents were trying to recruit them, then maybe there was something of value in the other three.

Ten minutes of reading the files left Fury shaking his head in amazement. For an anti-social solo agent with a lone wolf complex, Barton was a _scary_ judge of talent.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

The third time that Chavez was pulled out of his cell, it was surprisingly not to talk about himself or the Tomb, as the team had nicknamed Hawkeye's now former base. The Tesseract Base just didn't have the same ring to it, and after Selvig's comment while talking with the Green Man, the name had stuck.

This time, he was pulled into a room with yet another agent, though there was a lack of guards present. Sitting in the chair was an average looking bald man who was looking through a set of documents, adding a signature every so often. The badge on his lapel had an orange bar across the top which read "Sitwell, Jasper" next to "Level 7". On top of the table, a small duffel bag sat next to a folder and a pen.

Sitwell looked up at him as he walked in and adjusted his glasses. "Hello, Mr. Chavez."

"More questions already?" Chavez asked, glancing suspiciously at the bag as the master-at-arms unlocked his handcuffs. "You guys have already picked my brain over more than once- I'm not sure what's left to tell."

The other man watched his gaze, and indicated the bag with a nod. "The bag is for you to take with you- you're a free man now, so the prisoner garb isn't appropriate anymore. It should hold you until we can get you a set of uniforms from supply. Civilian wear is optional after training while you're off duty, and will not be provided unless it's required for a mission."

Chavez relaxed. He really didn't care for another torture session.

"This," the agent advised, holding up the small stack of papers, "is your employment contract, explanation of benefits, and some other assorted things that you'll need to sign in order to begin your employment at SHIELD. On the bottom of the pile is the SHIELD form SQ-Four-Alpha, or Security Questionnaire that gives us permission to pull the records for your previous security clearance from the DoD."

"That DoD form is like, twenty pages long," he replied skeptically. "Not to mention my discharge is going to make the clearance approval a bit hard."

The agent didn't look up at him as he continued sorting the documents. "SHIELD handles things a bit differently than the DoD, Mr. Chavez. Let us handle the clearance request. We also have our own clearance levels- you'll be starting at Level One until your probationary period is over, at which time you'll be evaluated on whether or not you'll advance, or remain at the current level."

Chavez shrugged. It sounded fair enough. Mama had always warned him to read everything before he signed it, so he took extra time to pore through each document before signing it. The process reminded him of his initial enlistment- everything spelled out exactly, explained in parentheses, and complete with several carbon layers to ensure it was filled out in quadruplicate. Surprisingly enough, the form was already almost completely filled out- the only blanks were the signature and date blocks. Someone had clearly done their homework.

"Where do I go from here?"

"From here, you'll be released to temporary quarters where you can get cleaned up and ready for transport," the agent advised, handing him the last set of documents. "Once we hit dry dock, you and Mr. Reagan will be transported to the Training Facility, the location being undisclosed at this time."

The former mercenary sat up. "Wait- Pete's coming too?"

"He is," Sitwell said with a nod. "His assistance with the repairs to the Helicarrier systems didn't go unnoticed. We're always looking for good technicians, so he was recruited after we looked into his background. He's a bit of a diamond in the rough like you, but I think he'll do just fine."

Chavez nodded. "What about the rest of the guys?"

"Well, three of your team didn't make it, and the others," Sitwell spoke grimly, pulling out a data tablet; Chavez was beginning to think they were standard issues for everyone wearing a suit. "The other three friends of yours… well, that would depend on you."

"How so," he replied with suspicion.

"We have some information from Mr. Oyuki's Army service records, but there's plenty of information in his medical file. His demolitions and EOD experience could be valuable. My question to you is: how reliable is he to work with? Is he dependable on a team, or is he a firebug?"

"He's dependable. A bit of a gun or bomb nut and a perv at times, but no more than any other guy, I guess. As for EOD, well, he's got familiarity with IED's while in Iraq; that's where we met, actually."

Sitwell tapped a stylus on the tablet gently. "We have plenty of men who can blow things up, Mr. Chavez. What we need is someone who can _keep_ things from blowing up. Think he's up to the task?"

Chavez nodded. "He can do the job. Whether or not he will, well, that's for him to decide. Oyuki's not big on government these days."

Sitwell nodded again, making some notations in the file. "Now, for the other two. Jed and Ted Sanders?"

"The Twins," he clarified with a smile. "Crazy little bastards, but they're the kind of crazy you want working _for_ you instead of against you."

"Can you elaborate please?"

"Well," the Marine sighed, "I worked with 'em a couple times. Nobody really knows where they came from, but some suspect a circus or something. Freak show of some sort. They're not exactly bright, but they're very cunning in their own way. Hawkeye called it 'sideshow stupid' one time. You send them to do a job, they'll find a way to pull it off."

"Can you give me an example," Sitwell asked, his head tilted to the side slightly in amusement.

"We were sent to, um, _acquire_ some plans for a new transmitter when we worked for Hydra about a year back. I told Agent Romanov all about that one, I think. The shop we broke into had these security laser grids we hadn't been told about that would slice through skin like a hot knife through butter. The boss at the time says, 'I want those plans and I don't care how you get them,' or something like that."

He leaned back in his chair, his hands pantomiming as he spoke. "The Twins, they just looked at each other, and they take this mirror that one of them had dragged in from the _bathroom_ for some stupid reason. One jumps back and forth on the trigger plate while the other uses the mirror to bounce part of the laser up to the ceiling. It cuts a hole straight into the air ducts, which triggers alarms from all over the place. How the laser didn't cut through the mirror itself, well, hell if I know."

Sitwell narrowed an eye. "That doesn't sound very wise."

"That's the Twins. They know _how_ to do stuff… they just don't know if they _should_ sometimes, you know? It was effective though- one boosted the other one up and off he went into the lab. He came out with the plans after about three minutes, and we made it out of the building. Though we did have to fight off some guards."

Chavez glanced at the ceiling, remembering a detail from that particular fiasco. "Oh yeah- they _kinda_ forgot to turn off the laser grid on the way out too. The little buggers can run _quick_ when being chased by a laser beam, as it turns out."

"They… forgot?"

He shrugged at the agent, who appeared to be fighting the urge to laugh. "Sideshow stupid."

"I see," the other man nodded, collecting himself. "Improvisation skills may be useful. Do you think they'll follow orders?"

"As well as you or me, as long as they like you, I guess," Chavez explained. "You just have to be _real _specific when you want them to do something, or else they'll do whatever comes up in their kooky little heads."

If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn there was a hint of amused calculation in the agent's gaze. He wasn't sure if this boded well for _anybody_. Shifting in his seat, he put the finishing touches on his paperwork and handed it to Sitwell. "We good?"

"That should do it," the agent confirmed, sliding the small duffel bag over to the new recruit and holding out his hand. Chavez the offered hand, shaking it firmly. "Congratulations, Mr. Chavez. Welcome to SHIELD."

* * *

_Helicarrier Drydock, Virginia…_

The Twins finally stopped moaning about their impending doom once the helicarrier settled into its specialized drydock. The vessel's epileptic movements had finally ceased yesterday, allowing the inhabitants to breathe a sigh of relief. Chavez suspected it had something to do with Pete's sudden removal from the brig, judging by the smug look on his face when he was returned by a less panicked master-at-arms.

Not long after the ship had docked, they were gathered one by one and escorted off of the ship to a transport van waiting on the pier, heading off to parts unknown. Each former mercenary was kitted out with a spare change of clothes, toiletries, and a packet of good, old fashioned paperwork. The men rode quietly for a good amount of time, until the Twins finally got tired of the silence.

"Where are we going?"

"How long do we have till we get there?"

"I gotta _pee_, man- pull over!"

Chavez and the others groaned. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. A slight _thwap _sound meant that one of their compatriots, Oyuki most likely, had slapped them upside the head. He sighed happily, enjoying the quiet.

The peace didn't last long. "Anyone wanna count cows or something?"

* * *

_SHIELD Training Facility, Undisclosed location…_

For some reason, Chavez half expected the SHIELD training program to be more like Boot Camp. After the first four hours of Orientation and In-Processing, he was finding it different in a good way. For starters, the new recruits were intermingled for half of the day and then separated into groups based on which department they would be working with instead of constantly training in one area at a time and focusing on skills that may or may not be used.

Chavez and company fell under the Operations Department, which encompassed their security and tactical personnel, many of which had some rather loose job descriptions. Pete would be cross-training with the Tech Department, while Chavez himself would be seconded to Medical for additional medic training per his request. He appreciated the willingness of SHIELD to work with them on making the most of their current skillsets.

Oyuki had been quiet for most of the trip. Chavez was curious as it was about why the demolitions specialist had decided to join their little group as it was- at least he knew that Pete had joined after SHIELD and the Avengers had taken care of the invasion in Manhattan and the following cleanup, as well as the opportunity to play with SHIELD's technological wonders.

Chavez suspected that in reality, Reagan had caught the Hero Bug. The technician's entire family lived in Manhattan, and when word of the invasion reached them in the detention cells, the normally mild-mannered tech had flown into a spitting rage. The idea that he had been helping the man responsible was the final straw. The former criminal was tired of using his abilities to hurt people; now, he was being given the chance to do something good.

"Hey, Carl- what changed your mind about signing up?" he finally asked his friend quietly as they waited for the next Orientation lecture to start. "You always said you'd never get caught working for these guys."

Oyuki sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "They're gonna fix my back, man."

"No kidding? I thought you said nobody would-" he started until the other man sighed.

"Dude… you were on the Helicarrier. You've seen the shit they have on that thing- it's way more high tech than anything the VA's got. I've been to I don't know how many docs and surgeons- they all said the shrapnel was way too close to my spine to safely remove. If they tried, I'd probably either die or wake up a cripple."

He nodded while the other man continued. "When they took me up to Sickbay to X-ray the ribs, they had some equipment up there that did some sort of in-depth scan or something. You know, like those MRI things? Only better. The doc on the ship said he thinks it's gonna be repairable."

Chavez smiled. His friend had been combating the shrapnel that had scattered along his spinal column, courtesy of an IED while stationed in Iraq. He had visited multiple surgeons after he had been medically discharged, and after being turned down by each one had settled for the fact that he was going to be in intermittent pain for the rest of his life.

The idea of being able to function without painkillers on a mission or job would be a definite plus, and he was glad that his friend had found something to look forward to- it made dragging the other man along when he had gone to work for Hawkeye all the more worthwhile.

"They got me on light duty right now," Oyuki continued softly. "Gotta wait for the ribs to heal, but they may do surgery since I'm kind of gimpy already. Get it over with, you know?"

"Yeah, man. I'm happy for you," he said with a smile, turning back to watch the Twins, who were still arguing over whose cows had died when they passed the last cemetery.

"So, what do you think they're training the Twins in," Oyuki speculated over lunch. Chavez, Oyuki and Reagan had been meeting for lunch at the cafeteria regularly since they hadn't received a paycheck yet, so the small store on the SHIELD base was out of the question for now. They also stuck together to avoid some of the suspicious looks coming from some of the other recruits.

The Twins came and went, but that was par for the course for them. If they weren't plotting on how to ambush Fury, they were disappearing into a storage room or running down the hallway to avoid being late for the next training course.

"Obedience training," Reagan quipped, shoveling a spoonful of macaroni noodles into his mouth. "Not that it'll do 'em any good. Those two are barely housebroken."

"Aw, leave 'em alone," Chavez groaned. "They mean well."

"You're just nice to them because they got you that 'Fresh Spring' scented detergent you like," chided Oyuki. None of them had figured out where they had gotten the supplies from; there were no theft reports and no screaming recruits chasing them down the hallway. None of them had been paid yet, either.

The Marine chuckled. "I'm not going to complain. _And_ I'll smell better than you. Besides- it's easier to catch a fly with honey than sugar. They're not bad guys once you get used to them. They deserve a second chance too."

"More like _last_ chance," Pete mumbled. "Can you believe they actually asked that Sitwell guy if they could have 'genuine, honest to goodness superhero names'? The look on his face was priceless."

Oyuki chuckled. "By the way. Who _did_ win the Great Cow Debate?"

"Neither. It was a tie, like it always is."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

_Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's._

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier, 2nd day in drydock…_

Thor and Bruce Banner were on the hunt, progressing through a wide passageway after returning from the raid on the "Tesseract Portal Construction Base" as SHIELD was calling it these days. He liked the unofficial name better. Bruce had to agree with Dr. Selvig- the place had reminded him of a tomb, with its catacomb layout and gloomy yellowish green lighting.

The infiltration and raid had gone well, with many captured and few casualties- there were deaths, but luckily only on the enemy's side. SHIELD was stretched thin as it was, and losing more agents could be a potential problem. The physicist had been relegated to the support crew, and the Other Guy's presence was thankfully unnecessary- his skills as a scientist were much more useful.

Bruce loosened his tie, looking up at the ceiling nervously. _Overhead_, he reminded himself, having had his terminology corrected the other day by one of the crew members. They had been surprisingly accommodating to him considering he had done so much damage, but that didn't mean he felt comfortable staying on board any longer than he had to.

The target of their search, Natasha Romanov, was finally located in the catwalk area behind the bridge. The aisle was dimly lit, with machinery humming and blinking on either side of them. A yellow painted railing lined the non-skid path as a barrier from accidents.

They would have missed her if not for a sharp curse in Russian, followed by a series of knocks and squeaks. Peering down, the physicist noticed the agent squatting on the lower panels below the catwalk. She was dressed in her civilian attire, and appeared to be conducting a search of her own.

"Uh, hello, Agent Romanov," Bruce greeted tentatively. At her nod in greeting, he moved forward. The impromptu shawarma party was one of the only times he had been in the same room as the Black Widow, but they had all been too exhausted to be scared or nervous in each other's presence. Now that they were in much better condition, he still wasn't sure how she would react to him.

"Did you need something, Dr. Banner?" Romanov didn't look up from her search, and instead slid further down the chute and began peering under another control bank with a small flashlight.

Thor gave his shoulder a firm grip and smiled as he gave Bruce a gentle shove forward. Clearing his throat, he looked down at the reason for his little quest. Clutched in his hand was a set of arrows, bound neatly with two zip ties. "I have a, ah, _delivery_ for Agent Barton. We tried to stop by his quarters, but there were guards at the door… "

"He's currently under lockdown, Dr. Banner," she explained, finally looking up at them. The agent nimbly gripped the rail and pulled herself up onto the catwalk to approach them. "Director Fury wants to keep him out of the way until he can clear things with the Council. They're still running the full disciplinary investigation, and Medical is trying to get a handle on exactly kind of mess Loki and the Tesseract made of Agent Barton and Dr. Selvig's heads. No offense, Thor."

"None taken," the Asgardian replied softly. "The good doctor and I have returned from seizing the command location where the Tesseract was hidden. While we were there, we found many unusual materials after we had vanquished the enemies housed within."

Bruce held up the bundle of arrows. "We found these among the weapon materials, and thought we'd bring them to Agent Barton."

"He'll appreciate it." She took the arrows, smiling as she turned them over to examine the heads. Her head tilted, giving away a confused expression. "These ones are new. A couple of them look familiar, but it looks like there has been some slight modifications on his original designs. Barton may know more, but his memory has been a bit odd lately."

"Wait- _Barton_ made these?" Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. "Some of the designs are a bit high- tech. It makes sense, now that I think of it. I just thought most of his gear may have been made for him by your research department."

Thor scoffed at the idea. "There's nothing bizarre about it. Why wouldn't a warrior be capable of crafting his own weaponry? Back in Asgard, _many_ an archer prides themselves in fletching their own arrows."

"It's just not how things are done these days," Bruce replied with a shrug. "Fletching is sort of a lost art here on Earth, um, _Midgard_. And these are a bit more complicated than your typical arrow."

Thor didn't appear to be convinced, choosing instead to smile at the doctor. "Agent Barton is not your typical archer."

"Point taken. Now, about the arrows… "

She grasped the bundle tighter, a small smile playing on her face. "I'll see that he gets them once he's cleared to carry. Thank you."

"Say," Bruce started, looking around the area, "Are you looking for something, by the way? Maybe we can help since we're here."

The agent sighed, leaning against the railing. "I'm looking for Agent Barton's dagger."

"A knife," Bruce repeated as he pulled out a flashlight of his own, looking at his companion. Thor shrugged, unaware of what she was referring to. "Care to elaborate?"

"Barton's knife. His favorite, or one of them at least," she explained, swinging herself down to return to her search. "It was a gift, and I don't want it getting found by some dockworker and taken home like a cheap trophy or something. He lost it when we… when we fought."

Nodding, the men began searching the area. A half hour later found Bruce peeking under a monitoring console when his light shone on a small object. Cursing his luck, he looked around, finding no way to access the crevice. Unless…

"Hand me that arrow, please?" He motioned to the bundle leaning against the railing. "The one with the suction cup thing on the end."

Thanking her as she passed it over, he reached down into the gap with the arrow, grinning at the success when the arrow returned with a rather sharp looking fighting knife attached. The blade was approximately six inches, and appeared to have an edge on both sides with a reddish- colored wooden hilt. A target ring was etched near the seam where the metal met wood. "Ah ha! I think this is what you're looking for."

Agent Romanov sighed in relief. "_Thank_ you, Dr. Banner."

"So how did it get lost?"

"He dropped it when I bit him."

"You bit him." Bruce winced. "That sounds… bad."

"Well, to be fair," Romanov countered, "he _was_ trying to stab it through my eye socket. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

She smiled again as he began to look uncomfortable.

"May I?" Thor was unmoved by her description. He gestured towards the errant blade, removing it from the odd arrowhead at Romanov's nod. The warrior examined it, his warrior's curiosity piqued. Nimbly flipping it on its end several timea, he took a few experimental swings and thrusts. "It is a fine blade. A little small for me, but it has excellent balance. Whoever gifted it to him has fine taste."

Her eyes grew sad at his praise. She held out her hand as he passed it back to her, hilt first. "Yes. Yes she did."

Bruce wasn't sure if it was a wise idea to pry further. "So… how _is_ Agent Barton doing? We didn't get to speak much after, you know."

"Coping, I think," the agent replied, turning the blade over and over slowly, her eyes focused on it. "He's not used to being kept out of the action like this. The lockdown is probably making him a bit antsy. I think Fury has him doing paperwork to keep him occupied and to take his mind off of the other agents that were hurt or killed here. Clint hasn't been dealing very well with that part."

"That doesn't sound so bad. The busywork, that is," Bruce offered, disappointed at the turn of events. If anyone knew what the agent was going through, it was him. He had hoped to have a chance to talk to the last recruit in their "super powered boy band", as Stark had labeled the team. At least Barton was on house arrest instead of being locked up in a cell. He shuddered at the thought.

She raised an eyebrow. "He's Ops. Ops and paperwork don't exactly mix, _especially_ with what Fury saddled him with. It's the worst possible fate you can imagine for someone like Barton."

Thor looked confused. "Paperwork? Is this a form of torture?"

The others chuckled. Natasha shrugged. "You could say that."

"Did he say what kind of project he's stuck with?" Bruce asked out of curiosity. If this whole Avengers super team thing was going to stick and if Tony had his way, he was going to need to learn more about the others.

She smiled innocently. "Recruiting."

* * *

_SHIELD Training Center… Weeks later…._

"_Alright_, you sad excuses for maggots! Move it, move it, _move it!_"

Physical training was a bit more strenuous than Chavez was accustomed to, but he welcomed the challenge. He had missed the discipline that had ruled his life during his time in the military, and now enjoyed the routines that had formed currently. It was… nice.

Upon finishing his physical training session and shower afterwards, he decided to stop by Medical to visit Oyuki. His friend had come out of surgery the week before, and was currently recovering from the shrapnel removal and repairs to his ribcage. Carl would have weeks of therapy ahead of him, but he was already reporting that his back hadn't felt that good in years.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted, entering the room at his friend's nod. Carl was holding a notebook and a tech manual, trying to catch up on some of his missed classes. Chavez sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up a small booklet laying on the nightstand. "What the hell is this?"

"Oh, that," Oyuki said with a chuckle. "The Twins left it. Not sure where they got the inspiration, and I'm not sure I _wanna_ know. I appreciate the gesture though."

Chavez laughed, flipping through the booklet. It was a series of drawings intended to be scanned through quickly, forming a crude cartoon- this one was indicating a rather lewd act between an elephant and a blob of some sort. Maybe it was better to leave it alone. "Uh… _yeah_. They uh, got their hearts in the right place, I guess. Must've got wind of your porn collection, eh?"

He smiled as he watched the other man's face turn red. Oyuki had been known for his rather unusual preferences in "viewing material", but they usually didn't involve animals to his knowledge. If it was, he didn't want to know. Sparing him the indignity of having to respond, Chavez tipped the manual upwards to look at the title after setting the flipbook back on the nightstand. "What've they got you working on now? Looks like the trainers have you doing _something_ at least."

"Some of the new timer designs that SHIELD's been running into. I gotta tell you, they're nothing if not thorough. Turns out a lot of guys know how to set explosives, but they're really low on qualified bomb disposal techs. I guess the military's not letting them go unless they get themselves blown up like me," Oyuki complained bitterly. "This stuff's a bit more advanced though- more digital than analog. I've got a lot to catch up on.

"Well, we both know you're up to the challenge, man." Oyuki was a smart tech- it was one of the reasons he had recommended him to Hawkeye for the Tesseract job. Hawkeye had given him a short quiz at the meet-up and seemed satisfied enough with the responses, and hired him on the spot.

"Yeah. I think I gotta admit… that whole mercenary gig was the best mistake I ever made," the bedridden man agreed with a smile.

Chavez couldn't resist. "I thought that was cutting the blue wire instead of the red one?"

Carl laughed, clutching his sides. "Go to hell, asshole!"

* * *

_SHIELD really does have the best toys_, Pete Reagan mused as he aligned another circuit on his little graduation project. He was working this one solo due to the odd number of students in the room, but that didn't bother him.

Focusing on the lab table, Reagan located the simulation program and typed in several more permutations to run while he redesigned the trigger mechanism. If all went well, he would have a prototype ready for testing by the end of the week, which was slightly ahead of the rest of the class.

The instructor seemed to be the only one impressed by this fact. The other techs- in- training were either too focused on their own designs, trying to steal components from the other teams, or paying way to much attention to _his_ little creation. The last part was the only thing that had Pete concerned.

He hadn't had to deal with hazing very often before he joined SHIELD, well… except for high school, but that was years ago. It was a strange juxtaposition this time; here, the nerds reigned supreme and held it over the heads of the Ops and Investigative recruits, reveling in intellectual superiority. They didn't know why Reagan bothered with field training, and wouldn't stop trying to convince him to join the tech department full time. And then there were the Ops guys that didn't like him very much…

"What've we got here, Reagan? A little scanner perhaps?" Reagan sighed. _Those_ three again. The Terrible Trio as some of the geeks had labeled them were three Ops recruits that most likely had been selected for brawn more than brains. They had resented the mandatory tech familiarization classes that SHIELD required each agent to complete, and were not afraid to throw their weight around. Reagan was usually by himself, making him the ideal target for their attempts at bullying- he felt like he was back in high school.

Looking up from his project, he glanced at the quote the instructor was writing on the Smartboard. Upon completion of the quote, the scientist fixed Reagan with an arched eyebrow. Smiling, he kept the saying in mind as he turned to the Terrible Trio, who had picked up the device and began fumbling with it.

_Experience is often the best of teachers._

"Whatever you do, man, don't press the little red button," he warned, letting a panicked expression take over. He made a show of trying to get up off of his chair, then let one of the goons shove him back down.

"What's it gonna do- shock me or something?" The big one sneered as the others cackled. Reagan counted from three, then pulled out his sunglasses. Setting them in place, he smiled. The other students were looking at the spectacle out of curiosity now.

Predictably, the thug pressed the Little Red Button, otherwise known as the trigger. Three large arcs of electricity shot out of the housing in the rear instead of the front opening that _had_ been the intended barrel. Each of the Trio began seizing and jerking when the arcs targeted the closest conductors- namely, them.

"No," Reagan chuckled as he picked up the device from the fallen men. "It's going to shock all _three_ of you- Team Rocket goes flying off again!"

There were a few other snickers from the other lab benches as the instructor contacted Medical.

* * *

The Twins made no sense to the administrative section, who had been trying to match them up with the best training course selection that suited their skills. So far, they hadn't had much luck- the erratic pair seemed to defy logic when it came to trying to classify anything about them.

One of the only things that seemed somewhat normal was their familiarity with assorted firearms and some bladed weaponry, but that wasn't unusual for mercenaries. They had a decent grasp of group and paired tactics, but not a lot of leadership potential- the Twins were definitely headed for the "follower" category.

Their other skills were equally eclectic, and the fact that the instructors had no idea of how to tell them apart was not helping. Jed and Ted seemed to confuse which Twin was which as well- by now, the staff had given up on trying and just did as much as possible by pair.

After the first week, the other recruits had gained a wary respect for them, finding out that if you messed with any of their "favorites", karma had a bad habit of turning around and biting them. So far, the only known members of their little circle included the purple-haired nurse from Medical, Chavez, Reagan, Oyuki, Hawkeye, and for some reason Agent Maxwell- the equivalent of their "drill instructor".

Any actions against a member of this small group of people was met with creative reprisal. One bully found himself super-glued to the bottom of one of the larger truck beds, only to be found later by one of the maintenance crews. Another was knocked unconscious and woke up in the sewer system on Mystery Meat Monday... twice. Some of the recruits and staff that had been giving them hostile glares due the nature of their "recruitment" were usually dealt with in other ways such as dyed shower products and other smaller pranks.

Nobody could prove it though, and it was driving the security team insane.

The final weeks of training brought with it a general air of nervousness, and the Twins were no exception. Nobody had been told what they would be tested on- they didn't drive often and didn't have official licenses, they only spoke English as far as anyone knew, and they had exhibited a host of other minor skills deemed unimportant. The common theory was that they would take the standard Ops exam and it would be left at that.

Agent Maxwell was currently using their antics as a platform to write a new Improvisation and Ingenuity course, but there was nothing on the books officially. So far, they didn't need to study much outside of physical training and weapons practice, which brought them to their current dilemma: How to plot their next assault on Agent Farnov's dignity.

Agent Farnov had been the most recent person to cross the Twins; the demanding Operations Protocol trainer had tried to make an example out of them since they started the course, but this time the instructor had gone so far as to publicly denounce them for their improvisational methods. Some agents were willing to adjust for the current situation, but others stuck to protocol like glue.

Jed headed up the operation this time, which would hopefully allow them to complete the rest of the course without interference. Most of their tricks involved easily acquired items from the store, which they gleefully raided now that they had paychecks.

Having made their way to the instructor's quarters, they slipped into the closet that held the agent's laundry soap. Ted produced a vial of bright blue liquid, which Jed poured gleefully into the container. After a quick slosh to mix the substances, they reset the bottle in the cabinet and made their escape.

They patiently waited three days for the results of their little outing.

Agent Farnov was nothing if not professional, always wearing a suit while on duty, always turning in his paperwork, and always following protocol. His dedication to the policies and procedures was so strong that he had been given the honor of instilling it into every new recruit to walk through SHIELD's halls.

He took his regular position at his podium, adjusting his tie and straightening his folder. Farnov had planned for an extensive lecture today, to be followed by a pop quiz. Now, if only he could get through the lecture session without having to deal with _them_.

Farnov sniffed, detecting a slight chemical odor. Deciding to ignore it for now, he continued with the lecture. Twenty minutes later, he detected the same smell again… but stronger... in his vicinity. As he paused his lecture, there were a few quiet snickers.

A slight draft led him to look downwards, to his pants. Or lack thereof. The snickers grew into poorly hidden chuckles as he found the smoldering remains of his clothing on the ground. "What the… "

He looked up, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. His gaze fell on _them_.

The Sanders brothers- currently the largest source of confusion to the SHIELD Training Center and bane of his existence. "_You two…_ "

His planned tirade was interrupted by his coat crumbling and falling to the ground. Farnov cursed himself for going with the Superman boxers as he seized his manila lecture folder, using it to cover his rapidly disintegrating underclothes.

Grabbing what he could to cover his now drafty attire, he fled the lecture room. Escaping down the corridor, he ignored the laughter of the other agents who were now peeking curiously out of their offices. Spotting a familiar face, he charged up, forgetting about his lack of attire.

"You… _you!_ You are _responsible _for this! You and those two miscreants..." Farnov shook a fist at Agent John Maxwell. The Ops trainer's eyes widened at the spectacle.

"You're out of uniform, Agent Farnov," Maxwell quipped, watching the other agent retreat down the corridor to try to salvage what dignity he had left.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

_Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's._

* * *

_Graduation day…_

This was _not_ the final evaluation mission Chavez had been hoping for.

SHIELD had some unusual graduation exams, each tailored towards assessing the agent's abilities in their assigned department. Tech recruits had a final project to complete and present to an evaluator from R&D. Intelligence had to perform some surveillance ops, create reports, and analyze data with a required level of proficiency.

Ops was a bit more hands on, requiring field operatives to complete a low-level mission in a team formation while being evaluated by an experienced agent. The missions could vary from protection details to escort missions, infiltration missions, and sometimes containment. In Team Two's case, it was currently herding oversized mutant slugs.

Mutant slugs. Of _course_ it would be mutant slugs. Chavez hated the things; he had had more than one run-in with them during his tenure working for different evil masterminds, and for some reason every one of them wound up creating mutant slugs and blobs of varying shapes and sizes.

Two other fire teams spread out on either side, trying to contain the mess. Sirens blared as emergency vehicles sped by. Signaling to the rest of his team, they fanned out and ducked behind several parked vehicles in front of a department store.

"Team Two in position," he reported to the team's evaluating handler. Agent Sitwell was a decent enough guy and had done his homework before meeting up with the team. He knew where to place the team members, who was supposed to handle what job, and more importantly, seemed to have the idea that they _wanted_ to graduate and not blow up SHIELD headquarters.

At least he was working with people he trusted. The higher-ups at HQ had decided to evaluate Chavez and the other "Minions", as the bosses were calling them, as a team instead of assigning them randomly. Their small group had picked up several nicknames by now, amongst which were monikers such as "The Minion Squad", "The Wierdoes", "Hawkeye's Band Of Merry Men", or their personal favorite, "Those Idiots Who Were Dumb Enough To Go For The Carrier And Got Caught".

A blob of acidic slime flew past his head, splattering against a brick wall and leaving a smoking pockmark. "Aw great, sir- they're _acidic_ mutant slugs."

"_Damn,_" Sitwell swore over the comms. "_Stay behind cover. Let Team One go in as planned to take point- we're need to find out if these things are resistant to our weaponry_."

Their weaponry consisted of some stun grenades and their M-4's, though Oyuki had been given an M79 grenade launcher with a variety of rounds. The mission hadn't been set up for anything more complicated than a lab infiltration at first, but when Team Three had breached the back doors, the scientist inside had released his latest project as a distraction and high-tailed it out the door while his guards began opening fire. What was supposed to be a low level extraction/capture mission was now an undefined containment operation.

Team Three was currently in pursuit of the original target, leaving Teams One and Two to handle the new containment mission. They were _not_ equipped for this. He cursed, running scenarios through his head as Team One took some experimental shots at the creatures.

"Shit," he spat, dodging another ball of slime as two members of Team One shouted in panic. Apparently the creatures didn't like bullets- not that it harmed them much. His suspicions were confirmed as he watched the targeted slug split itself into two, each beginning to grow larger until they were the size of the original. "They're getting a bit _pissy_ about being shot, sir."

"_Fall back if you need to. We've got the research department on it- we'll just need to hold them off until they can give us an advisory,"_ Sitwell's calm voice replied. "We've got backup on the way, ETA forty-five minutes."

Chavez ducked as another globule flew in his direction. "Roger that, sir. We got it covered."

"What's the plan," called Reagan, who was crouched behind a pickup. He swore as one of the slugs began to chase one of the other rookies, having melted the man's rifle. "They're not moving too fast. Should be easy to dodge, aside from the fact that they've got ranged attacks."

"Oyuki- hit 'em with one of the explosive rounds," Chavez ordered. "Let's see if they like fire!"

"Copy that," Oyuki replied with a nod. "_Fire in the hole_!"

The grenade hit the undamaged slug in the center, halted by the gelatinous mass. It paused, appearing confused. After three seconds, the top half of the creature bubbled up and exploded. The teams took cover again, dodging green gel and chunks of goop.

The bottom half began to glow. Seconds later, the wound began bubbling and reforming the slug… twice the size. It began to change its course, heading directly for Team Two.

"Aw damn," Reagan complained. "It's like the friggin' Hulk!"

"Uh, sir," Chavez gulped, "note to the research department. These things do not like fire. I repeat, they do _not_ like fire."

"_Copy that,_" the veteran agent replied. "_Get moving- sector two, guys. Sector two_."

It was heading for Oyuki this time, somehow recognizing the source of the blast. The demolitions expert stood transfixed by the large blob of slime.

"_Oyuki!_ Carl," Chavez called, slapping him on the shoulder. The other man blinked, shaking his head to clear his mind. His eyes were wide. "_Focus_, man!"

"Sorry, Alonzo," he finally responded. "It's just… that flipbook that the Twins made. I can't help it- I keep lookin' around for elephants!"

The team leader rolled his eyes and slapped him lightly on the shoulder again. "Keep your mind outta the gutter man. We got work to do."

Oyuki nodded, leading the slime down the road towards the second sector. It was three times as large as it originally was now, and lobbed even larger goo bombs at the agents- in-training. One of the recruits from Team One screeched as a blob hit his vest, patting at it with a nearby piece of sheet metal.

To everyone's surprise, it didn't sizzle, and appeared to be a normal, albeit large, smear of mucus. Chavez blinked in realization. The Twins. "Yo… Jed,Ted- front and center!"

The pair slipped over to his position, listening attentively. He looked them both in the eye. "You guys remember Doc Moreavich?" They nodded. "Remember how we dealt with _those_ slugs?" They nodded again. "Good. We need some salt- lots of it, and something to throw or toss it with. Got it? Good!"

Turning back to the green mess while the Twins vanished into the department store, he waved at the other fire team, signaling them to hit it with their own grenades. The other team leader gaped at him.

"_Are you nuts?_" Team One's leader screeched in his earpiece. "_We saw what your grenadier's shell did to the one chasing you guys!_"

"I got a plan," Chavez advised. "Look- the one we hit isn't acidic anymore. The fire changed it or something! We need to hit them all- it'll make it easier for part two. I've dealt with similar giant slugs before- trust me! We can do this."

* * *

Meanwhile, the handlers were stationed in a surveillance van two blocks away, relying on satellite footage to monitor their trainees. Agent Sitwell sighed, bringing up another satellite feed.

Agent Craig, the evaluator for Team One, watched in confusion as two of Sitwell's team split off, running into the department store behind them. "Your guys do know they're not supposed to split up on a training mission, right? Protocol says-"

"I know the protocol," Sitwell interrupted quietly. "This team was put together for their unique skillsets, and none of them involve relying on protocol. I've got authorization from Director Fury to make an exception- he wants to see what they can do."

The other agent shook his head, turning back to his own screen. It wasn't wise to second-guess Fury. He returned to advising his own team, who were apparently expressing concerns about Team Two rather loudly.

Shortly afterwards, the agents observed the pair struggling to get a rather large object through the doors. Taking a closer look, the Training Director that was overseeing the evaluations nearly choked in surprise. "What the hell are they doing with a _wood chipper_?"

* * *

Chavez's eyes widened. The Twins were fighting with the store's double doors, wrestling none other than a portable wood chipper. Piled on top of the machine were piles and piles of salt blocks, probably from the Sporting Goods section. A wheelbarrow sat near the store entrance, laden with bags of road salt and more blocks.

Looking around, he spotted an automotive garage. "Reagan- we're gonna need fuel. That shop over there!"

Reagan nodded sharply, darting over to the shop. Oyuki kept taunting the slug, unsure if it was following his voice, face, or smell. Chavez rushed over to help the Twins wrestle the chipper free, and set to work filling it once their techie returned with a gas can.

The Twins were tossing the blocks on the ground, trying to break them into smaller chunks. With a billow of smoke, the chipper fired up.

"Here goes nothin'," he mumbled, tossing two chunks into the hopper. "Oyuki! Bring it over!"

Team One watched in awe as the chipper chewed away at what appeared to be salt blocks while one of the Wierdoes poured a bag of road salt in with the blocks. White powder flew from the discharge chute, coating the giant slug that the other team's grenadier had lured over.

A loud squeal filled the air as the creature began to shrivel, the salt beginning to dehydrate the monstrosity.

"I'll be damned," the Team Leader mumbled. He turned to his team. "Hit 'em with the grenades- light 'em up and prepare to run!"

"_Leader Two to Leader One_," a voice crackled over the comm system.

"Go for Leader One," he answered.

"_We're marking them ace, diamond, club, heart, left to right. We're gonna keep moving, but try to bring them when we call for it. For now, try to keep them following you. They're pretty slow, but once they're hulked out, they're not acidic."_

Trainee Regis, otherwise known as Leader One, signaled to his team to comply with the orders. They set to work distracting the slugs, who thankfully were as intelligent as their counterparts. Watching the other team, he noticed a smear of green where the first one had been. "You heard the man. Everyone- wait for the next call."

* * *

_Debriefing, 2 hours later…_

"What gave you the idea to use salt?" Training Director Mabry didn't even look up from her folder as she added notes to the evaluation sheet.

Chavez straightened up. "Previous experience, ma'am. One of my previous employers made some about a year back. We didn't have a dehydration ray handy on this mission, so we improvised."

"Improvised. That's one hell of a way to improvise, Agent. Keep it up," Director Mabry smiled, placing a last signature on the form.

He smiled widely. "So, I passed?"

"Son, you met and exceeded expectations for the mission parameters. Your team has shown a lot of potential to do great things for SHIELD. Just don't let it go to your heads, and don't screw it up. Now, go tell your team the good news."

He darted out of the Director's office and jogged to the briefing room where his team was waiting. Cheers could be heard from down the hall as they celebrated their victory.

Shortly after the other teams had had their own debriefings, Chavez was approached again by Trainee… no, _Agent_ Regis, who was wearing an equally proud smile. His team had passed too.

"Agent Regis," he greeted.

"Agent Chavez," the other man replied, holding out a hand.

Chavez took the extended hand, shaking it for the first time. He watched as Regis shifted his stance, trying to gather himself for something. Crossing his arms, the team leader decided to say what was on his mind.

"Look, Chavez… I just wanted to apologize."

Chavez shrugged. "Nothing to apologize for."

"Yeah- there is. I can't speak for the guys, but I want to say I'm sorry for judging you and your buddies there. There's no way that you guys don't belong here… you guys earned it, and I'm proud to say I was wrong. I just hope that we can kind of start fresh if we're gonna be working together in the future."

"Hey," the newly minted agent replied, stunned at the apology. Regis had been one of his staunchest opponents, claiming that there was no way the team would ever make it in SHIELD. "It's not like we came in under the most glorious of recommendations, ya know?"

Regis snorted. "_Really?_ C'mon Chavez- you guys got probably the most impressive job interview _ever_. _That's_ what's got so many of these guys' feathers in a bunch."

"Do tell," asked Chavez. He hadn't bothered to talk much with the people that had been hazing and attempting to bully his team since Day One. It wasn't worth it- they had concentrated all of their efforts on not giving SHIELD a chance to throw them behind bars just because some idiots couldn't grow the hell up.

The pair began moving slowly down the corridor, heading for the barracks to catch up on some desperately needed rest. Regis began explaining as they walked. "Well, we've got quite a mix of capable and in some cases, overqualified, fellow recruits. There's a lot of them from Special Forces, CIA, you know… just about every government branch and alphabet soup agency."

Chavez nodded, signaling him to continue. "Every one of us had to go through wait lists, lengthy application processes, interviews, the works. Then you guys come along from out of nowhere, and bam- you're popped right into the next training class. There's a lot of guys that think you guys didn't earn it, and I'm ashamed to admit that I was one of them. I guess we should have just tried harder to get to know you better."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't act on your first instincts," Chavez explained as they reached the building exit. He pointed at a nearby lounging area in front of the barracks building. "You wanna talk, let's talk… but first things first- my feet are killing me."

Chuckling, they sat down at the picnic table. Chavez kicked up his feet, supporting his chin with his hand. He held up a finger. "First off, all the guys are qualified in their own way. Me, I was Force Recon in the Marines for five years, and uh… professional security, I guess you could call it, for two."

He raised a second finger. "Oyuki blew himself up defusing a bomb in Iraq as part of an Army EOD unit. He's not the record holder, but he knows his way around a bomb. He's done mostly analog, but he's getting to know digital too- he's one of the best. Carl hates setting off bombs because he's seen what they can do to people, but he's reliable in combat as long as he knows what he's shooting at."

"Sounds like a good guy. How'd you meet up?"

"Story for another time. Let's just say it involved a lot of alcohol, a stopwatch, and some drunk servicemen." He left out that the drunk servicemen had been a couple of his Marines that had been drugged and left with a rather complicated bomb strapped to their chests with a stopwatch timer. Oyuki had been the closest EOD member around, and had quickly defused it. They had been friends ever since.

"Next, we've got Reagan," Chavez continued. "Career criminal until now, and hacker extraordinaire. I don't know much about him until he joined us in the Tombs, but he's hell on wheels with anything electronic. Mostly breaking and entering, but hey- gotta start somewhere."

"So," Regis began, "that just leaves those weird guys… the twins. What's their deal?"

"Dude, _nobody_ knows what's up with them. All I know is that you wanna stay on their good side, or they'll make your life a living hell. They're not the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, but they're sneaky little bastards who find a way to do the job no matter what. Be very careful what you say to them."

"When you say careful," Regis began, "I think you mean this is sort of like how you have to word a genie wish very carefully so as not to let said genie interpret it too literally?"

"Sideshow stupid," Chavez advised. "Just remember that. Sideshow stupid."

The other man nodded, his eyes wide.

Chavez retired to his bunk later that night, having felt much better after finishing the conversation with Regis. The other team leader had shared some information about his team in return as a sort of peace offering and to start things fresh; it was a conversation that should have happened before the meeting, if pride hadn't stood in the way on either side.

He smiled as he drifted off to sleep. The team had pulled together to show the evaluators that yes, they did belong here. Sitwell had listened and let him do his job instead of forcing him to do things by the books, which would not have ended well tonight. Best of all, he had made a new friend. All in all, it had been a good night.

* * *

Two days later, and it was Graduation Day.

Five rows of recruits from all departments stood in formation on the enormous front lawn of the Training Center. A podium stood at the front of the rows, with several chairs lined up on either side. All of the new agents were dressed in their uniforms; the techs and office based agents stood in sharp, tailored black and white suits, and the Ops crew was dressed in black tactical wear.

The Minions were slightly nervous as they waited for the next speaker to finish, but still proud to be wearing their uniforms honestly this time. Somehow, it made the heavy clothing fit more comfortably than it had when they had infiltrated the Helicarrier. They had a purpose now.

Chavez looked back up to the podium. His eyes widened as he noticed the Keynote Speaker.

The smiling man. The smiling fucking man in the cheap suit carrying the big giant gun. He hadn't seen the man since the guy had beaned him on the head with the afore-mentioned gun. The suited man stood at the podium, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably and smiling at them. The smile made Chavez nervous.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Today marks the day that you embark on a journey that will change the lives of your co-workers, your families, your friends, and your selves. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division prides itself on protecting this country, and even this _world_, from enemies domestic and abroad, striking from the shadows to do the job that our fellows in the mainstream agencies and our military cannot, or will not do," the man continued. The new agents straightened as he continued.

Coulson's solemn face gazed over the crowd slowly until he had addressed them all. "What it comes down to, ladies and gentlemen, is that unlike the men and women serving in our Armed Forces, or patrolling our cities streets, or putting out fires, we are _not_ heroes."

Chavez shifted uncomfortably while the man spoke, hanging on to every word. Either the guy was a natural with words, or he had one hell of a speechwriter. Outside of the carrier, this was the first time he had encountered someone who had been there during the attack. All he wanted to do now was duck his head and hide, but that would be impossible since the man was now announcing his name, asking that he stay behind with the others who had been called out.

After the closing speech, he held his position while the others cleared out, heading to their appointed department representatives who would be guiding them from this point on.

The Smiling Man was waiting for him, along with Oyuki, Reagan, and the Twins. The Twins were having a quiet argument amongst themselves while the suited agent approached with Agent Maxwell in tow. Chavez gulped nervously, but tried to appear his usual calm, collected self while the mystery agent held his hand out.

"Sir," Chavez greeted, shaking the agent's hand. He decided to treat him as he would any other scary officer. "You wanted to see us?"

"Agent Phil Coulson," the mystery agent introduced himself. "I've heard a lot about you, Agent Chavez."

"Nothing bad, I hope," Chavez quipped, immediately wanting to smack himself for making such a lame comment.

Coulson just smiled again. "I'm more interested in your current capabilities and loyalties now, Agent Chavez. Unless it's relevant for current circumstances, I'm willing to leave the past in the past. As for why we've asked you to stay behind, well- we've got an assignment for you and your team."

"Already? Sir, we've just completed training-"

"If you're implying that you're not capable of completing your assignment, agent," Coulson offered, "we can find additional training for you and your men."

"No sir," he replied quickly. "I'm just surprised, sir. Most new trainees are usually posted in a low level postings, according to our trainers."

"Your team isn't most trainees," Coulson countered, passing a folder over to Chavez. "As much as the brass would like to make an example of you and separate everyone to different postings in the Sahara and Antarctica, frankly… that would be a waste of your talents. We need you elsewhere for now."

Inside the folder was a copy of orders for each member of his team, each indicating the same destination. "We're being sent to _Canada_, sir? All of us?"

"Your team is being designated Strike Team Mike," Coulson explained. "Your posting is set for four months, after which you'll be assigned to another location. We like to keep our Strike Teams moving so they don't show up as quickly on anyone else's radar."

"Why Canada?" Reagan asked, peeking over the edge of the folder. "My family's in New York. I was kinda hopin' to get assigned there, sir."

Coulson just smiled again. "SHIELD has put a lot of trust in your team so far- enough that they've recruited you instead of putting you in Federal lockup or just shooting you and dumping your bodies off of the carrier's flight deck. If it had been anyone else than you guys, well… let's just say SHIELD is not opposed to eliminating pests to save resources. We're willing to trust you further, but not fully. Not quite yet."

"Fair enough," Chavez replied with a nod. "We've got to prove ourselves first."

Reagan nodded; at least there was hope of getting back to New York once he had put his time in.

"Walk with me, Chavez," Coulson spoke suddenly, beckoning the younger man to join him. They walked towards the small park that lay on the eastern section of the grounds, leaving the team to celebrate with Agent Maxwell, who was being glomped by the Twins.

They had barely left hearing range when the veteran agent spoke. "I've gotten to be quite familiar with your history, Agent Chavez. I'm curious, though. What caused the sudden turnaround?"

"Turnaround, sir?"

"Please don't patronize me, young man. I've had a very bad couple of months, so I would appreciate it if you would please be as straightforward as possible. It'll make this conversation much easier. After falling under contract to a group like Hydra, it's not something you can just walk away from. I just want to hear your side of the story." He was smiling again. It reminded the Marine of a predator smiling as it was about to attack its prey.

Chavez thought for a moment before responding. "I've never liked the jobs that I've been doing since I got out, sir. Hated every minute of it. I'm a fucking Marine, sir- Force Recon."

The old saying flashed through Chavez's head: _Once a Marine, always a Marine._ "I served my country. I fought alongside my fellow Marines, and I fought for my government, and I gave _everything_ I had to it. All of a sudden, because of some _civilian_, it all goes away 'cuz I lost my temper. All that work… all that dedication… all that _blood_, down the drain because some guy in a suit thought a machine was more important than my squad."

Coulson stood silently while he continued. "So, I was in a bad place when I got out of Leavenworth. Cons don't usually have an easy time of it when it comes to trying to rejoin society, and I was still angry, so when some guy came to me with an offer to stand watch over some weirdo in his lab, I took it. But I never enjoyed what I was doing, and I hated the work and myself even more for letting myself fall into that rut."

"But then Hawkeye came along," the smiling agent added. "He came along and offered you a new job, working for yet another 'villain.' I understand you had a contract with a Hydra division at the time. What made you change your mind? Was it solely because of Agent Barton?

Chavez knew Hawkeye's identity as Agent Barton due to the time in the Tomb during various discussions with the Green Man and the Doc. "He offered me a way out."

"Would you mind telling me? It's important that I understand your motives, Agent Chavez," Coulson replied, crossing his arms. "There are a lot of people interested in your team, both good and bad. We can't help you if we don't have any ammunition to work with, and there are still some higher-ups that aren't convinced that you're not infiltrating SHIELD to work against us from within our own ranks."

Chavez looked straight into Coulson's eyes. "Sir, Hawkeye… Agent Barton, he saved my ass back in Afghanistan. I told myself that if I ever had the chance, I'd return the favor somehow. So, he shows up at a rendezvous point assigned by my contract agent, asking if I'd sign up with him since he needed someone trustworthy to do a job. I told him about the contract, and he said don't worry- he'll take care of the contract himself. That I wouldn't have to work for HYDRA anymore- _ever_. "

He thought back to that day, months ago when he had met up with the blue-eyed and apparently possessed agent.

_Chavez pulled his truck up to the abandoned test site, setting it into park as he looked around. There was one other vehicle there- a matte-grey modified Hum-Vee with what appeared to be a SHIELD logo. Leaning against the vehicle was Hawkeye himself. As he exited the vehicle, the agent approached. _

_He was dressed differently than the last time Chavez had seen him; instead of wearing camouflage, the agent wore tactical pants, a t-shirt, a thin tactical vest and combat boots- all in black. A Heckler & Koch P30 was holstered on his left leg. _

_Hawkeye greeted him, and Chavez noticed that the clothing was not the only thing different about him. His eyes were a marbled, bright blue, where they had been a greyish, almost green shade of blue before. The effect was striking- not necessarily in a good way. "So, looks like SHIELD is the alphabet soup agency you belong to. Not bad, Boss. Not bad."_

"_Not quite," the agent replied cryptically, ignoring the "Boss" comment. _

_Chavez arched an eyebrow. "Sir, you said you had a job for me? I'm not exactly SHIELD recruit material these days."_

"_I've got some work that I can't do on my own, Marine," Hawkeye explained. "I'll give you more details if you decide to take it. For now, let's just say the job needs a crew of eight or nine to pull it off, and I need a second in command to keep the others in line. I'm fully aware of your skills, Chavez."_

_Chavez was tempted. "Sir, I've got about two months left on my contract with Doc Keanut-"_

"_Let me worry about HYDRA. I need someone with your capabilities to watch my back on this. The one thing I can promise is that if this job is successful, HYDRA, AIM, and any of the other groups you've worked for will be a thing of the past. If you work with me, you'll never have to worry about them again. _

_Something about the agent's demeanor was setting off warning bells. "Well when you put it _that_ way… "_

"_You're in?"_

"_You bet."_

_They shook on the deal while Hawkeye pulled out a cellphone. Several minutes later, he looked back at Chavez as he finished his call. "It's done."_

"_Thank you, Sir." He couldn't believe it. He was going to work for Hawkeye, and probably die in the process if what his gut was telling him was correct, but at least he could die while working for someone he actually had some respect for. _

_There was also the freaky eye-thing going on. This didn't have the feel of a normal SHIELD operation. As tired as the older man looked, there was definitely something strange going on. Hawkeye may need more than just someone to watch his back- the man didn't look like he was caring for himself properly._

"_Tell me, Boss," Chavez asked out of curiousity. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"_

"_I would have killed you," he answered, staring Chavez in the eyes while his hand shifted to his sidearm out of reflex. _

_He was quite sure that Hawkeye meant every word._

Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, he continued. "Somehow, I don't think that we were thinking the same thing though when he said it. He kind of left out the world domination part."

Coulson actually grinned. "Thank you for being honest. I'll be frank; we're still recovering from the Loki incident, and there are a lot of nervous agents amongst the ones that understand that the events were orchestrated by a madman with one of the worst case of daddy issues this world has ever seen. You've got your work cut out for you, so keep your head down and concentrate on doing your job."

"Yes sir."

"You'll be working with Agent Sitwell most of the time, so you've got a handler that is at least neutral and won't judge you for your past actions. Just do what you guys do best, and you will earn the respect you deserve," Coulson finally finished softly.

"That's not all there is to it, is there," Chavez asked.

"Barton was right," Coulson observed. "You are perceptive. Another thing we're looking at is the fact that we're not sure how the rest of the agents will react to Agent Barton once he's back on duty. I'd like to be sure we have at least one group of people available that we can trust to back him up if the situation should call for it."

"You can count on us, sir," Chavez replied proudly. "How's he been doing? He didn't look so good the last time I saw him on the carrier."

"Physically, Barton's fine, barring a couple unusual complications. He's still officially on leave, though," Coulson advised sadly. "There's been some trouble adjusting, for both Agent Barton and SHIELD. It's not every day we have to deal with a high level operative that's had their mind and will hijacked magically. Even normal brainwashing takes time to recover from, if they _can_ recover from it."

"I'm surprised you're giving me that much detail, sir," the young agent replied curiously. "I would think that the 'Loki' situation is beyond my clearance level."

"You were there, Chavez. If we're going to be asking your team to back up Barton and Romanoff, and by extension the Avenger Initiative once your probationary period of one year is up, then you deserve to know what you're getting into."

"Thank you, Agent Coulson," Chavez said softly. It was nice to know that they weren't being thrown to the wolves just yet. Hopefully it wouldn't take long to prove that SHIELD's faith in them had been deserved.

Coulson smiled yet again. "Don't thank me yet. Those that get brought into SHIELD under the 'Shoot It Or Recruit It' policy tend to run into trouble on a regular basis."

"Who came up with _that_ name?" Chavez laughed. The name was rather appropriate, considering the circumstances.

"Director Fury, of course."

"Ah. I can see that," he replied with a smile. "Sir, it may be a long time, but I just wanted to thank the Director for giving us another chance. Agent Romanoff, too. I hear she talked to Fury about me, at least."

"Well, you gentlemen did come in with a good recommendation by proxy. Agent Barton is a very good judge of talent when it comes to recruiting operatives," the older man replied fondly. "That man has a rather odd tendency towards picking up strays."

Coulson drew out a pair of sunglasses and placed them on his nose. "That's one of the things I wish he would realize. For all the time he was working with Loki, the operatives that he selected to stay close to him were still good people deep down. He was fighting against the mind control in a less obvious way than Dr. Selvig was, I suppose. At any rate, I need to get back to HQ."

"Thanks again, sir."

"You can thank me by fulfilling your potential, and by staying the good person you seem to be. Don't lose sight of that." Coulson turned on his heel and left.

Chavez watched the agent walk briskly to his car- a matte-grey sports car with a SHIELD logo on it. Holding the door open was a driver, dressed in sunglasses and a similar black suit. He squinted as the man's face caught his eye. Smiling, he came to attention and saluted.

Hawkeye saluted back, a broad smile on his face as he got in the car and sped away.

* * *

And so ends the first part of Hawkeye's Merry Men. There is more to come, but please note that the updates may slow down a little!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Canada, Undisclosed location…_

Chavez was pretty sure he didn't like Canada. Specifically, being stationed in Canada. The small wilderness town was great and the people were friendly, but standing watch over an observation post left way too much free time for his team to get themselves into trouble.

Reagan had hacked the town's local Internet Service Provider and after a month knew all of the town's secrets. Oyuki had located the adult bookstores and was a regular customer until he regained access to a computer. The Twins… he didn't want to think about what those two did for fun. Plausible deniablility was a fun thing.

Strike Force Mike had been posted in the small town for the last three months, and were preparing for their quarterly evaluations that would determine where they were sent to next. Reagan had been crossing his fingers for New York City, but Chavez knew that the new guys rarely got the choice postings until they had put more time in.

They weren't the only team stationed here. SHIELD maintained a weather monitoring station and research lab, which was guarded by SHIELD Ops personnel. Whoever was in charge of assignments had decided that a low priority guard post would be the perfect way to ease them into SHIELD routines, and the former mercenary couldn't disagree with their logic.

Fitting in to SHIELD's way of doing business meant putting up with a lot of bureaucratic red tape and lots of redundant procedures. At times, it reminded him of his time in the military but with better computer systems and a lot more paperwork.

Chavez thought about that idea again, reasoning that it wasn't _quite_ like his time in the Marines; the higher ups in the military didn't walk on eggshells and treat the team like they were psychotic cats bringing dead birds home to leave on the doorstep.

"Damn, it's too quiet here," Agent Forrest moaned. The large man was his assigned watch partner as the former mercenary was the only one with the patience to withstand the man's pacing and complaining.

Chavez thought he was an okay guard, but the man really whined too much about not getting any action. Boring meant nothing was trying to bite, shoot, stab, or mutilate you in a creative fashion. Boring was good for a guard.

At the end of his shift, he headed towards the locker room to shower and change. Another agent quickly walked past him, his eyes wide. The man's face was pale, and seemed to be caught between confusion and disgust. Chavez groaned. There was only one thing that could create such a reaction.

He entered the room and peered past the row of lockers. Sure enough, the Twins were present. One of them was seated on the bench, holding a cloth to his mouth. It appeared to be stained bright red. The other Twin was hovering anxiously, peering closely and wiping his brother's face with a washcloth.

Chavez cleared his throat, giving them a questioning look. They turned as one, seeing him standing at the end of the locker row with his arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. "What happened?"

"Chavez! Perfect," the standing Twin cried, turning back to his brother. "He'll fix it! I know he will!"

The other Twin nodded enthusiastically, a bloody grin on his face. He mumbled into the cloth. The standing Twin darted over to his team leader. "Sir, ya gotta hit me. In the tooth, right here!"

Chavez's eyes widened as the Twin pointed to one of his upper front teeth. "You want me to _what?_"

"Hit me! Jed's missing a tooth up there now. We gotta match, sir!"

The team leader blinked, then shook his head to clear the confusion building. "Wait- what? Why is Jed missing a tooth?"

Ted wrung his hands nervously. "We were gettin' dressed, and this big fella come up and started talkin' crap about me an' Jed, sayin' we were stupid freaks 'cuz we made a mistake on the last mission. You know- the one with the mutant last week? Words were said, and uh… there was a fight, and the big fella knocked my brother's tooth out. I tole' him that he needed to knock mine out too so we'd stay a matched set, an' he just gave me a funny look and walked outta here."

Chavez lightly pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. That explained the look on the other man's face. "You _do _know that Jed can get a cap on the tooth so you'll look the same again, right?"

Realization dawned on the smaller man's face. "I forgot about that. Thanks, Chavez!"

He watched in amusement as the Twin rejoined his brother, dragging him off with hushed words. The other Twin grinned again and waved. Shaking his head, he turned back to locate the agent that had dared to bully his team. The Twins wouldn't have thrown the first punch- they didn't bother with things like fistfights when they found nasty pranks so much more enjoyable.

Locating his target in the small cafeteria, he approached quietly. The man was talking with two of his teammates, gesturing with his hands. Both of the man's friends spotted Chavez and straightened up, their eyes widening.

Agent Bronwin was one of the larger agents- a prize-winning boxer built like a blond, pale sasquatch. He wasn't the largest SHIELD Operations agent- that honor belonged to Agent Hartwell, who had taken on Thor in New Mexico. Chavez respected that Bronwin wasn't the smallest SHIELD agent either, and he had made little effort to hide his disdain for Strike Team Mike.

It was time to make an example.

He quickened his pace, his right hand catching hold of one of the stout, steel cafeteria trays that lay abandoned on one of the tables. As Bronwin turned, Chavez arced back with the tray in hand, swinging it into the side of the other man's face with all of his strength.

The larger man went down like a sack of sodden potatoes. His hand flew up to his face, cupping the area that the tray had struck. The former Recon Marine squatted over Bronwin's chest, pulling his collar up and slamming his head into the wall behind him.

He pulled the dazed man's face forward, twisting his hand into the uniform shirt to keep him from falling backwards. The other two agents looked on, stunned. They knew better than to intervene.

"I ever see you _touch_ one of my men outside of a sparring mat," Chavez hissed, "I will _end_ you. We clear?"

The man nodded, his eyes widened in shock. Chavez stood, turning to face the other two. "You might want to take him to the doc. Concussions are a nasty thing if you let 'em go untreated."

"Yeah," one of the agents replied weakly. "We'll get him taken care of. Stupid trays- can't believe some idiot left it on the floor for poor Bobby to trip over."

Chavez nodded, leaving Bronwin to his friends.

* * *

Reagan giggled for the fourth time as he re-read the email posted on his screen. "Hey, Carl- you gotta see this. The mayor's wife just made plans to meet her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend for a little _rendezvous_."

"Geez, man- you're horrible. We're not supposed to be spying on these people!" That didn't stop Oyuki from rolling his chair over to read the latest of Butcher Creek's town secrets. "Wow- man. Just wow."

"I know, right? This stuff's better than a freakin' soap opera!"

The pair laughed, drawing the attention of three of the other techs, who merely shook their heads and returned to their weather monitoring stations. After Reagan had upgraded their systems, there wasn't much left for the field tech to do but monitor everything. Normally there was an onsite IT network specialist to watch things, but two weeks of arguing back and forth had forced the local station commander to order them onto different shifts until the Minion Squad rotated out.

A window popped up on Reagan's screen, displaying an incoming video communication prompt. Agent Jasper Sitwell's face and identification code appeared next to it. The tech tapped a key on the screen, signaling for Oyuki to activate the privacy screen.

"_Hello, Agent Reagan,"_ Sitwell greeted, his face appearing in a small window with a small smile. _"Chavez isn't picking up- I need you to locate your team as soon as you can- we've got a mission."_

"Hiya, sir!" Reagan smiled enthusiastically. "Wait one."

"I'll get him," Oyuki offered, jogging out of the control center.

The tech turned back to the screen. "Carl's going to track him down, sir. Anything I can help you with in the meantime?"

"_We'll wait for the others to show up before I give you the details. Better get your extraction kit- we're going to need your expertise on this one."_

"Sounds like fun. What tech level are we looking at?" Reagan began mentally browsing his inventory, taking notes on what items he would need to pack. There was a new password cracking device he was just _dying_ to try out.

Chavez and the Twins appeared shortly, trailing after Oyuki. The team leader took the seat offered by the tech specialist, facing Sitwell. "You rang, sir?"

Sitwell nodded. _"We won't have much time to plan. Privacy screens up, please. The rest of the research department doesn't need to hear this. Strike Team Mike is ordered to deploy for a high-risk extraction approximately two hundred miles to the west of your location. We're sending a Quinjet to pick you up."_

His eyebrows arched in surprise. SHIELD didn't send Quinjets out very often- they were too identifiable. There must be a high level asset involved for the bosses to risk it like this. "What else can you tell us?"

"Not much until the jet arrives- be there when it lands. You have thirty minutes. I'll brief you on the details when we arrive."

Chavez nodded. "Will do, sir."

Sitwell's face blinked out. The team leader spun around on his chair. "You heard the man- emergency bags, full tactical loadout. I'll call the station commander to report in and grab my med bag. Oyuki, bring some party favors- we may need a distraction."

Oyuki nodded while Reagan began collecting his computer equipment. "Reagan- bring your new crackerbox and a tap kit. We're probably going to be dealing with security- alarms, sensors, you know the drill. Twins- _please_ don't forget your gas masks this time!"

The team nodded, bumping fists as they had taken to doing at the end of a mission huddle. "Move out!"

As they dispersed, Chavez heard Reagan complaining. "Man… just _once_ I wanna hear 'em say it. This message will self-destruct in five seconds!"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the Quinjet landed on the weather station's helipad. The rear door ramp dropped, and the small team ran up to enter the aircraft. Once on board, they seated themselves on the bench seats, tucking their packs below and strapping in as they looked to Sitwell for their next instructions.

Sitwell wasn't alone. Watching them carefully was Hawkeye. He met each of them with a nod, then slapped the headrest of the pilot's seat, signaling her to take off.

Chavez observed the man, noting the changes from when they had worked together in the Tomb. Instead of the SHIELD tactical gear, Barton wore black pants, armored boots and a holstered pistol on each leg with a familiar knife strapped in back of his waist. Instead of the tactical vest and black shirt, he wore a sleeveless leather and Kevlar vest, with a black sleeveless shirt underneath. There appeared to be some sort of support ribbing built into the undershirt.

He spied a familiar hard case strapped to the bulkhead of the Quinjet, next to what looked like a high-tech quiver. The team leader noticed Reagan focusing on the quiver, as if mentally dismantling it. Knowing the tech, it wouldn't take long for Pete to start asking questions about its contents and design.

"Gentlemen," Sitwell greeted cordially, nodding to each of them. He was dressed in his usual three-piece suit, with an earpiece tucked into his ear. "We've been assigned a high-risk extraction. Our mission is to retrieve Agent Romanoff from a small weapons research facility, along with the added request to acquire a copy of their manufacturing and development databases if possible. Black Widow is the priority here, but if we can get the data too, it'll be a feather in all our caps."

They nodded. Everyone had heard of the Widow. Chavez couldn't help but ask. "What are we up against? If it was enough for Agent Romanoff to get caught, I'd like to plan accordingly for us. We're still considered junior level agents, sir."

"Let me handle getting to Agent Romanoff," Hawkeye replied. "Romanoff's made getting captured for purposes of interrogation an art form, so if she's calling for help, there's something dreadfully wrong with the whole situation. I prefer that Reagan and the Twins focus on getting to the server room, while you two back them up or come with me. I'll let Sitwell pick."

Sitwell nodded appreciatively. While Barton, Romanoff and Coulson were technically the senior agents, he was the handler for Strike Team Mike. Allowing him to make the final decision spoke of their respect and trust in his ability to work with his bunch of misfits.

"Chavez." His head turned, hearing Sitwell call his name. "I want you with Barton- you're trained as a medic, and if Agent Romanoff has been injured, he may need your help getting her back to the Quinjet. Oyuki, you go with the Twins and Reagan. Look for any booby traps on the way to and from the server room. This is a weapons plant- we don't want to take any chances. There may be contingencies to protect the data."

They each answered in unison. "Yes, sir!"

Chavez unstrapped himself, carefully moving to the other side of the craft and checking the backboard that was fastened to the wall. It was designed to fold down to allow a patient to be strapped in for evacuation to a medical facility. He ran a quick check over the fittings, locking it into place as a precaution.

The other two agents merely observed, moving out of the way at his quiet request. Once Chavez was satisfied that everything was in good shape, he nodded to Sitwell and reached up to take hold of one of the overhead handholds to wait for arrival.

The pilot soon announced that they would arrive in five minutes. Hawkeye slung the quiver over his shoulder and snapped it into place. Next, he pulled out the hard case to reveal his black, collapsible recurve bow and flicked his wrist sharply. Chavez smiled as he heard the familiar snap as the bow arms extended and locked into place. They were ready.

* * *

_AIM Facility, Saskatchewan, Canada…_

Chavez peered through his scope, making a disgusted face at the bright yellow suits worn by the AIM personnel as they moved equipment to and from a pair of semis. He had always hated wearing them; they were too bright, too stuffy, and their bulkiness made it hard to maneuver. Thank goodness that had only been a two month security stint before it had been taken down by a competitor.

The team was currently creeping towards the outer gate, keeping hidden in the tree lines. Reagan was holding a small device, leading them as he searched for a cable line that he could tap into. The tech signaled for the Twins to begin digging as he pulled a device out of his belt pouch. Plugging one end into his computer, he attached the other side to the now exposed cable line.

Reagan moved quickly, activating a program that Chavez knew he had been perfecting for the last three weeks. It was a take on the old "recorded video loop" trick, but this one was designed to outwit sensors on electric fences. The software took a snapshot of the fence's current status and overwrote the sensor data when they cut their access hole into the metal links to keep it from reporting any abnormalities in power flow. If all went well, they would gain access to the facility without raising any alarms.

Chavez waited for the thumbs up as Reagan finished his work. Once the loop had been set into place, the team crept forward to the fence. Pulling out a set of bolt cutters, Oyuki created a small opening for the others. The team entered the compound, bringing their weapons up to a ready position and sped towards the building.

"Warbucks, we're in the compound. Proceeding to Checkpoint Two," he reported quietly. "Situation green, security fence and monitoring loops in place."

"_Very good. Proceed to Checkpoint. Satellite shows you'll have a window to approach the rear door in five minutes." _

"Roger that. Setting timer."

The team plastered themselves against a wall. Reagan pulled out a small fiber optic camera and tucked the lens around the corner, watching the guard movements on a small monitor. He looked back at Hawkeye, signaling that there was one sentry up high and two roving patrollers. Barton nodded, nocking an arrow.

Five minutes later, the tech nodded and gave another signal: Go. With a smooth movement, the archer pulled back on the string and slipped around the corner. Spotting the guard turret, he released, sending the arrow towards the guard.

The yellow-clad form toppled off of the tower, making a small thump as it hit the ground. Barton signaled again, and they moved forward. One of the Twins grabbed the body, dragging it behind an alcove and out of sight.

Reagan set to work, pulling out his "crackerbox" device, setting it to decrypt. The indicator turned green on his monitor, followed by the click of the door locks as they released. He handed the device to Chavez.  
"Here you go- key to the city as requested. Just press the green button to unlock, red to lock."

Chavez nodded, accepting the device. The tech had programmed the device to tap into the encryption and record the master override code, turning it into a master keycard. Hopefully, they wouldn't run into anything more complicated like retinal or thumbprint scanners. He shuddered as he remembered Stuttgart.

The team separated once inside. Oyuki led the Twins and Reagan to the left, while he followed Hawkeye to the right. Based on the blueprints that had been given to the agency by Romanoff before her communication was cut off, there was only one location secure enough to hold an agent of her caliber. The fact that it was a high security storage room was besides the point.

"Locker room," Hawkeye whispered, motioning for him to take up a guard position as he opened the door. It was thankfully empty. The agent beckoned for Chavez to follow, and entered the room.

He sighed, realizing what Barton had in mind. Rows of AIM suits stared back at him from the walls, mocking him. "Can't we just go through the vents or something, sir? It would be _much_ more dignified."

"Vents," Hawkeye repeated, rolling his eyes. "What is with people thinking I crawl through vents all day in my spare time? _Geez_. You can hardly move in these ducts- the plans showed they're way too small to fit someone of our size, and especially not with my bow. I hate the idea of dressing up like a pink Dr. Who reject as much as you do, but it's easier than shooting our way in."

Pink? "They're yellow, sir."

"Really?" Barton tilted his head in surprise as he picked up a pair of AIM pants, then shrugged. "I get the two mixed up sometimes."

The pair quickly dressed in the guard suits. Barton folded the bow up again, snapping it into a holder on the side of the quiver. He moved one of the pistols to his waist and pulled an M-4 rifle off of the rack next to the door. They looked the part of AIM guards now.

Heading towards the secure storage room, they kept a sharp eye out for any other yellow suits.

The other half of the team made their way towards the server room, following the map as well. Spotting a pair of guards, Jed signaled. The group ducked into a closet, their noses wrinkling at the mildew odor. Ted pulled a tranquilizer gun out of his pack in the event they needed to drop one of the techs.

Not all of AIM's scientists were aware of the company's true motives. While the guards were more inclined to be in the know, there were plenty of janitorial staff, technicians, and paper-pushers that were innocent. Strike Team Mike preferred to keep casualties low on an infiltration job- there was less flak from the higher ups, and it kept the amount of injured civilians down.

Waiting for the guards to pass, they waited for the loud click as the pair passed through the security door. Giving them another two minutes to pass, they exited the closet and headed down the hall. Oyuki silently thanked the heavens that there was only one floor to the place- at least, one floor that they had to deal with.

"Team Two approaching server room," Oyuki reported.

Sitwell quickly responded. _"Copy, Team Two. Thermal data shows two heat signatures inside the room- one at the north end, another at the west door."_

"Copy, Warbucks. Preparing tranqs."

Reagan prepared to open the door while the Twins took ready positions. Oyuki kept an eye on the hallway behind them. "How's it looking on your side, Team One?"

"_We're at the storage room. Ready to blow the door in three, two, one, mark."_

"_Move in, Team Two," _Sitwell ordered.

He nodded to the others as he heard a small hiss and pop over the comms. Reagan pressed a button on the crackerbox and opened the door, swinging it open. Stepping out from behind the wall, the Twins darted into the room, locating the techs within and firing their tranquilizer guns. They were eerily in unison, Oyuki noticed.

After hearing two thumps, the tech and demolitions specialists moved into the room.

Chavez waited for Barton's nod, then slapped a Doorbuster onto the lock and set the timer. Both men backed away, waiting for the device to destroy the mechanism. The archer pushed the door in, his pistol held up as he swept the room.

He watched as Barton holstered his pistol, kneeling down to check the still form in the room. Agent Romanoff was dressed in a torn business suit and shackled to one of the shelves. Hawkeye gently patted her face, trying to wake her. She failed to wake.

"Chavez," the other man called quietly, taking a position at the door.

The former mercenary knelt down, pulling a penlight out and giving her a quick examination. After checking the pupils, his suspicions were confirmed. "I think she's been drugged, sir. Can't tell with what, yet, but she's not going anywhere on her own. We'll have to carry her out of here."

"Can you carry her?" Hawkeye asked after pausing for a minute. He appeared to have been having an internal debate.

Chavez nodded. Pulling out a laser cutter, he quickly cut through the chain leading to her cuffs. Picking her up, he shifted her into a fireman's carry and nodded.

"Phoenix, we have the package. Heading for the exit," Hawkeye reported quietly. Leading the way out, the archer kept his pistol ready as they moved back down the hall. "Team Two, status report."

"_Server room secure. We're connecting the transmitter now. Connection is green- you're good to start the download," _Reagan's steady voice advised. _"There are several external hard drives- we're replacing them with the dummy drives now."_

"_Good work, teams. Head for the extraction point." _Agent Coulson's voice was unexpected. Chavez hadn't been aware that he was doing anything more than monitoring the situation from the Helicarrier. It made sense that he would at least acknowledge Barton's report. He kept forgetting that technically, this was a joint mission between two strike teams.

Barton motioned for him to follow, and led them through the facility. Four minutes later, they were meeting up with the other half of their team and racing across the compound as the alarms finally rang. Security had to have been lax in the facility if it had taken them this long to discover the break-in.

He couldn't believe it had gone that smoothly until the ground exploded around them.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

"You gotta be _kidding_ me," Hawkeye's voice muttered over the comm. "That's a lotta guns."

Floodlights cast light on the area, illuminating the new arrival as the dust settled. There was a large, humanoid shaped robot. A large chain gun was mounted on one of the arms, which it swung haphazardly around the area. Several smaller barrels swiveled into view, aiming at an unseen target. It took a step forward, bringing the gun to bear on the SHIELD team.

Chavez noticed a heavier set of shipping containers. Signaling to Barton, he pointed to the stack. Heading towards the crates was a troop of yellow suits, waving frantically at the machine.

"Ooh, now _that_ looks expensive." Hawkeye commented, eyeing the equipment and smiling viciously. He signaled to the team to move to the heavy crates. Chavez couldn't disagree; it may make the bad guys less inclined to shoot them if their gear was in the line of fire. "Boys, time to plow the road!"

The Twins nodded and quickly opened fire behind them, targeting the approaching guards. Chavez watched as the archer adjusted the control on his bow riser. In response, the quiver whirred as an arrow was fitted to a specialty arrowhead. He raised an eyebrow, reminding himself to keep an eye on Reagan, who watched the device in fascination.

"_Team One, proceed with extraction,"_ Coulson's voice ordered as the team ducked behind some piled up equipment. There were shouts as the frantic AIM guards waved their hands in the air, trying to stop the machine from destroying the supplies. _"Team Two, delaying tactics please."_

"Belay that please, sir," Chavez replied. "Team Two has vital intel, and the Twins are faster. Request to readjust the split."

"_Go ahead. Get them back to the extraction point."_

He turned to his team. "You heard the man- Oyuki, you're with me. Twins, get Agent Romanoff and Reagan to Warbucks. Double-time!"

The Twins gave him a pair of thumbs up. He handed Romanoff to Jed- or possibly Ted. It was hard to tell which was which as they darted into the night. Carl laid down covering fire, launching a smoke grenade at the trailing figures before lobbing a grenade at the machine.

Chavez heard another set of shouts from their rear.

"I got it," Barton called, aiming his bow with one of the more peculiar arrowheads on it at the approaching group of guards. Ducking another volley from the killer robot, Chavez watched the arrow as it landed in the lead yellow suit's forehead. Small bolts of energy shot from the arrowhead in a ring, scattering the few guards that weren't hit.

"Finally got that one to work, I see," Chavez added appreciatively, standing up to fire again at the robot. He noticed the set of antennas mounted on the back of its "head" and shifted his aim. "I think it's a drone, sir!"

"Aw shit," Hawkeye replied, removing the approaching enemies with a well-placed explosive arrow. "Let me guess- gray, small rectangular head, group of three antennas?"

"That's right, Boss- though the head looks a bit small. The ratio's way off."

"Damn- I _really_ hope this one doesn't fly. Switch with me," the veteran agent ordered. "Oyuki- need a mag round at the right leg, on three!"

"Copy that, sir," the Minion replied. He chambered a smaller, electronic round that was fresh from the R&D design team. The design had been based on one of Hawkeye's "acid" arrow- a grenade filled with a napalm-like substance that would catch hold of its target using a powerful magnet.

Chavez could her Coulson's voice barking an order for a situation report. Barton responded, grimacing as he got a better look until he was forced to duck again.

"Situation normal, Phoenix," he reported. "Twelve hostiles down, two moving… kinda. Oh, and what looks to be a modified Hammeroid-"

"_Hawkeye, you're on an open frequency,"_ Coulson scolded.

"I like Stark's name better," the agent complained quietly, rolling his eyes as he rotated a small control on the bow riser. There was a small _whirr _as the quiver rotated. Moments later, he pulled out another arrow. "Sorry, sir- make that one, ah, _Hammer_ _Drone, _trying to be a major pain in my ass."

Chavez stifled a chuckle. This was definitely a difference in the way this Hawkeye handled things versus the quasi-robotic automaton he had been back in the Tomb. The younger agent liked this version much better- at least he made getting shot at entertaining.

The archer drew back, focusing on a target at the upper right: the antennas. Chavez laid down more covering fire, allowing Barton to aim properly; it was a difficult shot to make, even for him. With a _twang_, the arrow fired, sticking in the joint between the control box and the antenna mount. He signaled to Carl, who fired the mag round.

The round stuck to the main leg joint, flaring up in a burst of yellow and white light. An orange substance poured from the casing, eating through the metal support. Listing to one side, the drone tried to take another step as it reached up to try to remove the arrow from its neck and collapsed. One arm flailed helplessly while the other continued to wave its chain gun in their direction, firing constantly.

Two seconds later, the team heard a quiet beep. Hawkeye grinned. "_Boom!_"

Chavez and Oyuki ducked behind another large crate, recognizing it as the newer "Tankbuster" design that he had used on the Helicarrier. The arrowhead had a set of magnets designed to secure the arrow to a metallic surface in the event the arrowhead didn't pierce the hull, and the payload was significantly more powerful than the regular explosive tips.

The shockwave rolled past them as the control box and antennas disintegrated.

"Target down," Hawkeye reported. "Heading for the extraction point."

The three SHIELD agents quickly left the safety of the barrier, heading through the smoke for the Quinjet. The trip back to the jet was quick and uneventful. Agent Mibitu had already prepped for take-off, and flipped the switch to raise the ramp once the last three team members had arrived. There was a slight lurch as the aircraft rose into the air.

Chavez shooed the Twin away from the stretcher that held Agent Romanoff. He finished buckling her in, then checked her vitals. She was stable, but it would be best to have the doctor examine her when they returned to base. Hawkeye stayed by her side, whispering quietly in her ear while he held onto her hand.

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier…_

Returning to the Helicarrier felt strange. The entire team had been nervous, though why Sitwell was jumpy was beyond anyone's guess. They were met by a medical team, who loaded the unconscious agent onto a stretcher and wheeled her away.

Chavez couldn't help but notice Hawkeye. The older agent looked like he wanted to follow the medical team, until he touched his ear lightly, stopping in place. Coulson, the younger man decided. Barton looked up, catching the former mercenary's eyes and beckoned him closer.

"What's up, Boss?"

Barton scoffed at the nickname. "Fury wants us in his office. _All_ of us."

"He say what for? I figured we'd debrief with Sitwell."

The other man shrugged. He continued speaking as the agents joined up together and headed for the bridge. "Well, there is the _slight_ issue with this being a kind of, um… _unsanctioned_ mission."

Chavez stopped. "Sir? What do you mean, unsanctioned-"

"Well, yeah- why else would it be high risk?"

"What he means, Agent Chavez, is that Director Fury had explicitly told him not to go," Agent Coulson's voice cut in. The suited agent wore a neutral expression on his face. He was holding a tablet in one hand, and hadn't had time to remove his earpiece. "Shall we?"

The Minions clustered together, staying quiet as they approached the bridge. They were unsure of how the rest of the crew would react once they found out who had boarded, much less returned from an unauthorized mission.

Chavez _really_ didn't want to go back to Leavenworth.

Coulson led the group further into the carrier. Chavez sharpened his gaze, watching nervously as they proceeded through a maze of corridors. They received several stares; some were hostile, others neutral, and some hinted at barely disguised curiosity.

Once they reached the large door that separated the bridge from the rest of the ship, Coulson halted, punching a code number into the backlit keypad. There was a loud hiss as the door began to open.

Hawkeye shifted closer, lowering his voice. "Uh, guys… whatever you do, let the suits do the talking."

Chavez raised an eyebrow. The other agent shrugged. "Trust me. It's better this way."

Following Sitwell, the team filed into a row, standing next to a large round conference table. Director Fury was waiting for them, his eye burning holes through each agent. He pressed a button on a small control panel, causing pitch black screen to separate the conference area from the rest of the room.

"Well, well, if it isn't Hawkeye and his Merry fucking Men," the Director growled. "I should have known you boys would get mixed up in this somehow."

He rose from the table, walking slowly around the table until he was face to face with Coulson. The suited agents stood almost at attention, showing no remorse on either of their faces.

"Is there a problem with the mission, sir?" Sitwell spoke up suddenly. Chavez swore he could see a hint of a smile on Coulson's face. He gulped. Bad things happened when that man smiled.

"Yes, there is a problem, Agent Sitwell. Would either you or Coulson like to tell me why you took on an extraction mission that was expressly forbidden by the World Security Council? And furthermore, why you took unauthorized assets on said forbidden mission? You and I _both_ know that neither Barton nor Strike Team Mike have been cleared for Level Five and above missions yet."

Chavez was stunned. Unauthorized assets? Not _cleared_ yet? "Dir-"

He was interrupted by a swift kick to his boot, courtesy of Barton.

"_Shut up_- let the grownups talk," the archer hissed softly through the corner of his mouth, hoping Fury hadn't heard. Their hopes were dashed as Fury focused his gaze on them.

"Anything you clowns wanna add?" he barked.

"No, sir," they chorused, straightening up as they stood at attention.

"Then I suggest you keep your traps shut. You're in enough shit as it is, Barton. Do you realize the position you idiots have put us in?" Fury turned back to Coulson. "_All_ of these gentlemen are on the Council's shit list, which is why I ordered you to _stay away_ from this little disaster waiting to happen, Coulson."

"I'm sorry?" Sitwell asked innocently as he took a step forward. "Sir, the mission was authorized last night by the Operations center. We didn't realize that Agent Romanoff was in need of assistance; our presence there was a bit of a happy coincidence, considering she seemed to be in a bit of trouble."

Fury paused, tilting his head in confusion. "Authorized? What do you mean… god _damn_ it. _Explain_, Sitwell."

The bald agent straightened his glasses. "Sir, I received a mission from Command yesterday regarding a data retrieval operation. I naturally assumed that my team had been cleared for it, as we do have a technical specialist with the appropriate field skills for the data acquisition."

Sitwell continued as the Director's eyes narrowed. "Due to AIM's reputation with weapons manufacturing, I requested that Agent Barton be added to the team as a veteran agent's experience could be invaluable, and his infiltration skills are second to none. Since Agent Coulson agreed to join us on the mission, I believed that Hawkeye also had been cleared. Was I wrong to assume so, sir?"

Fury paused for a moment. Realization flashed across his face as the one-eyed man burst out laughing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fell back into his seat. "You gotta be kidding me. Get your reports in and get the hell outta here while I figure out what to do with you."

They turned to make a hasty escape, the suits heading for an unknown corridor. Fury had put his head in his hands, muttering, "God damn _patsy_."

When they reached the outer corridor, Chavez turned to Barton, his eyes widened in confusion. "Just what the hell _was_ that? Did Sitwell just lie to Fury for us?

"That, my friend," the archer replied, slapping him on the back, "was the Patsy. Know it, respect it, love it."

"Do I even want to know?"

Barton snorted as they proceeded down the corridor. "Not really. Look, I'm gonna head over to Medical. Thanks for, you know… _helping_."

Nodding weakly, Chavez watched the agent jog away towards Medical. He was about to turn around when a firm hand clamped on his shoulder. Turning around, he jumped slightly as he found himself face to face with The Smiling Man.

"Can I have a word, Agent?" Coulson asked. Sitwell nodded to him, smiling as he wrangled the rest of the team, escorting them elsewhere- most likely to some temporary quarters until they could return to the weather station.

"Sure?" he answered hesitantly.

"Walk with me, Chavez." The agent led him to what he remembered being a corridor that led to the detention levels. They turned a corner, finally stopping at a long catwalk nestled between banks of control panels and HVAC machinery. Yellow railings guarded the walkway.

Coulson finally stopped, turning to face the younger agent. "I imagine you have some questions about what's going on."

"Some came to mind, sir."

"As you can imagine, the whole Loki Incident has taken a toll on Barton. Most of the agents have taken his return to duty remarkably well, but he's still got some confidence issues. Namely, he's concerned he'll be unable to function as a SHIELD agent, or that Loki will somehow return and take over his free will again. This mission was a milk run for Hawkeye, and I wanted to apologize for throwing your team to the wolves like that."

The agent smiled again. "However, I had every confidence that you'd perform adequately, and you have. Once again, you have exceeded SHIELD's expectations, Agent Chavez. Today was to prove a point."

"That we were ready?"

"Exactly. Your team, and Hawkeye. All of our Strike Teams have a certain level of competence that we expect from them, and your team is no exception. The Council needs to see that they need men like you, Reagan, Oyuki, the Twins, and especially Barton."

Chavez tapped a finger against his chin, his arms crossed across his chest. "One thing I was wondering, sir- why did you call us in? There's another team that could have backed you up, and you wouldn't have had to detour to pick us up."

"I preferred to make the diversion. Romanoff and Barton are two of the most respected and feared agents, but neither of them are under the favorable umbrella of the Council. The higher-ups planned to disavow Agent Romanoff, and that I could not, and _will_ not, stand for. They've given everything they have to SHIELD, and we will not abandon them."

The suited agent sighed as he leaned against a railing. "You recall our discussion at your graduation?"

"Yes, sir," Chavez replied with a nod. "How could I forget?"

"This _does not_ leave this area, or else I will find creative ways to introduce you to how painful a taser and a jar of pickles can be."

Chavez shuddered at the thought while Coulson continued. "Four months ago, while Agent Barton was recovering, his apartment complex was burned down. Luckily, everybody made it out ok, but there could have been civilian casualties."

"They suspect arson?" the former mercenary mused. "Or, more importantly, do they suspect rogue agents out for retaliation?"

Coulson shook his head. "Not exactly. Arson was suspected, but they think it was set up by the landlord, who is currently under investigation. The problem is that there were SHIELD agents monitoring Barton who did nothing to report the fire, or assist in warning him. Hawkeye was using sleep meds at the time, and was pretty much out of it when it started in a nearby supply closet."

Chavez paled. "He got out okay, though?"

"Would you believe his dog saved him? It woke him up in time to get out."

The team leader nodded. "I take it this is what you meant by watching his back, sir?"

Coulson nodded. "Exactly. We couldn't trust those agents to have the back of one of our best operatives, who was as much a victim in the Loki Incident as the personnel that were hurt on the Helicarrier. He doesn't know who to trust in SHIELD now. I wanted to see tonight if you were up to the task of doing that job on a regular basis. We don't expect you to be superheroes, but there's nothing wrong with having at least _someone_ you can trust at your back. Believe me- I know from experience."

The younger agent nodded, standing tall with pride. "We'd be honored, Agent Coulson."

"Good, because for some odd reason, he trusts _you_, Chavez. You, and your team" Coulson replied. He looked at the younger agent curiously. "Tell me, and please be honest. If you had known then what you know now that the mission was unauthorized, would you still have gone?"

"In a heartbeat," Chavez replied with a smile. "It's like you said. You, me, Romanoff, Barton, the rest… we're all SHIELD."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Also, special thanks as well to the readers and reviewers- the fact that you're taking time to read my story and leave some cool feedback is a joy!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

Sitwell arranged for Strike Team Mike to stay aboard the Helicarrier temporarily in order to allow Reagan some quality time with the newly acquired AIM hard drives. This left the rest of the team with ample downtime to familiarize themselves with the ship and try to socialize with the other SHIELD agents. The vessel was currently afloat, allowing for some training at sea instead of in the air.

Chavez found himself walking down a passageway towards the mess decks, unsure of where to go specifically. The other agents had gotten used to his team's presence, and once it had been established that they weren't trying to blow it up this time, the crew even warmed up to them a bit.

He stopped to grab a bite to eat, filling a tray with some rather bland-looking food. He seated himself and began to eat. The food wasn't too different from any of the other military bases he had been a guest at; the potatoes were bland, the vegetables were stringy, and the mystery meat was a mystery that he preferred to leave unsolved.

Following lunch, he decided to check out the scenic view from one of the upper exterior platforms that the other crewmen had been using as a gathering place for their smoke breaks. Wandering towards the far end of the platform, he breathed deeply and focused on enjoying the salty breeze in the ocean air.

"I'm _telling_ you, Nat- leave it alone," a familiar voice complained. "I'm _not_ talking to Selvig and that's final."

"Clint, he's an expert-" a female voice argued. Chavez turned, noticing Agents Barton and Romanoff. He gave them a slight smile.

Barton gave him a nod, then spoke quietly to Romanoff. She huffed, shaking her head in frustration and stormed away. The veteran agent moved to stand alongside Chavez and gazed down at the activity below on the flight deck.

"Trouble in paradise?" Chavez asked, raising an eyebrow.

Barton snorted. "Not exactly. Just a minor disagreement about a project of mine. Sort of."

"Sounds like fun."

"You have no idea," the agent groaned. "Beautiful view at least, right?"

"Yeah," Chavez agreed. He wasn't sure if the other man was talking about the ocean or his partner. "Brings back some memories."

The agents stood in silence, until the younger man decided to break the tension. "Sir, I have a question."

"Fire away," Barton replied with a smirk.

"Have you had second thoughts about SHIELD, ever?"

Hawkeye fixed him with a calculating stare. "Sure. Lots of times. Why- losing interest in it already? Don't tell me Dr. Doom offered you a better deal."

Chavez chuckled. "No, sir. Just curious. I mean, I had a lotta plans when I went into the Marines, and then Afghanistan happened, and well… after that I didn't really have any idea about what else to do besides the rent-a-minion thing. The Loki thing, the carrier, joining SHIELD… it all happened so fast."

"Rent-a-minion," Barton repeated, a smile growing on his face. "Sounds like something Nat would say. I'll have to remember that one. I guess the better question is: what do you _want_ to do?"

"Well, finishing school would be nice, not that that's ever gonna happen, though. I'm kinda stuck here though- it was either SHIELD, Leavenworth, or most likely, death."

"It doesn't have to be the end, you know," Barton commented after a short pause. "SHIELD, that is."

"What do you mean?" Chavez wasn't sure where the conversation was leading.

"Didn't they explain it to you when you signed up? Or did they shorten it?" the other man asked, moving further away to avoid the drifting cigarette smoke. His nose wrinkled in annoyance.

Chavez shifted with him. "Well, in light of the crisis, they sort of gave me the express version."

Barton sighed. "While SHIELD is a government agency with _very_ high standards of competency for the most part, they do make allowances for things like going to school, families, and such. In fact, they encourage you going to school as long as it's in a field that fits with your job and SHIELD's best interests. You majored in Linguistics, right?"

The younger agent nodded. "Two years under my belt."

"That's wonderful," Hawkeye replied. "Linguistics is useful just about anywhere, and SHIELD'll cover it if you want to go back and finish it out."

"No school will take me- you've seen my discharge paperwork."

The older agent shrugged, giving Chavez a calculating look. "Didn't stop me. You're not the only former resident of Fort Leavenworth, kid. There are ways around a BCD if you really want it. SHIELD's got lots of resources, and they'll be willing to use them to help someone like you that has potential."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah. If SHIELD won't help you, I got a couple contacts that can step in."

"I'd appreciate it." Chavez smiled. They stood for a few minutes, distracted by a school of dolphins that had decided to race with the ship. The small creatures leaped and spun among the waves, following the ship's wake. "Sir? I… I want to make something of myself here. I can't go back to the Marines, and all that we've done so far has kinda given me hope that I can do something worthwhile. I love my country, and I wanna protect it."

Barton nodded, tensing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll want to finish that degree then. Talk to Sitwell. He's a good guy- good agent. Next, while SHIELD has some really cool perks, there are some things to keep in mind."

"I'm all ears," the younger man stated.

"First off, the higher up you go, the more enemies you make. There are a lot of groups out there causing problems, and a lot of crazy, unspeakable things that can happen to you as an agent. You've seen some of it already. Well, kid, the higher up you go, and the higher the security clearance, the worse the weird shit gets. Go to school, find a girl, hell- make yourself happy. But do it now, because the higher level shit you get into, the harder it is to do it later. "

Chavez took a deep breath, taking in every word.

The agent looked at his feet before looking up at his companion again, turning to face the waves. "When Loki took us- me, Dr. Selvig, and Agent Peters, it was just luck. If I had just stayed down, or been further away… that asshole _may_ have just left me alone. I just happened to be the first one to stand up after his first assault- he said I had _heart_. "

Barton turned back to face Chavez. "That is what you'll face if you keep going. If you keep climbing the ranks. We train for a lot of shit, kid, but inevitably, you will _always_ come across something you weren't trained for. Take it from me- enjoy the little things while you can. "

Chavez stayed lost in thought as the older agent wandered back into the carrier.

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier Lab…_

"You called, sir?" Chavez asked, reporting to Sitwell the day after his heart to heart with Barton. Praying for the absence of mutant slugs, he entered the lab. He wasn't sure what the handler wanted with him, considering he was a soldier, not a scientist.

"Ah, Agent Chavez," a portly man called, waving a clipboard in greeting. "So good of you to drop by."

Sitwell beckoned him over to one of the workbenches where a large device was resting, its pieces scattered about the table. A tech in a white lab coat leaned over them, muttering to himself as he tweaked a component.

"Chavez, please meet Dr. Kopersky. We'd like you to take a look at this weapon," Sitwell said, his hands clasped behind his back. "The techs have been working on modifying it for SHIELD's use, and we've been calling in anybody with experience working for Hydra. You'll hopefully be able to provide some knowledge on its capabilities and features."

Chavez took a closer look at the weapon, then glanced at the design schematic that the older tech handed to him. "It looks familiar, but I'm not quite sure it's the same one we got to play with. I didn't work for them long- just a couple months at a time, here and there."

"This one came in disassembled , unfortunately. If it's similar to some weapons that you have worked with, that may be enough to give us a good starting baseline. What can you tell us about them in general?" Kopersky asked as he adjusted his glasses.

"May I?" Chavez picked up the core chassis of the weapon after the scientist nodded, hefting it experimentally. He pointed it away from the others, shifting his grip in various ways. "Seems a little heavy on the front end- that may cause some issues with the aim."

The agent continued to critique the item. "Trigger pull is kind of stiff- you may want to work on that. These things have a hell of a kick too, so you may look at putting in some recoil absorption. This one looks like it's got an old casing too."

Kopersky appeared intrigued. "What makes you say that? We've been looking for any sort of mint marks, or identification."

Chavez shrugged. "The old cases were metal. They tried something with a new plastic polymer about two years back to make 'em lighter and easier to carry out in the field, but the heat was so intense that the chassis would melt after a few shots if they tried to fire it too quickly. The metal ones get hot, but they don't melt as long as you give them enough time to cool down first."

"That explains some of the odd substances we found in that test lab a year ago. Plastic mixed with solidified plasma. We weren't sure how the two had fused together, but it sounds like someone didn't do their homework when it comes to prototypes," the scientist replied loftily, giving some of the other workbenches a snobbish glare.

"Whatever, doc. Either way, you're gonna want to limit these things to agents with heavy weapons experience- anyone else is gonna get knocked on their ass, or it'll be too heavy for them to pack around."

"You certainly know your weapons, Agent Chavez." The scientist duly noted the feedback, nodding as he scribbled on his clipboard. Once he had finished, he looked wistfully at the disassembled weapon. "Ahh, one of these days, we will finish adapting these wonderful little toys."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine," Chavez quoted as he placed the chassis back on the workbench. He looked back at Sitwell. "We done here?"

The agent nodded. "The Twins came in earlier, along with a few other former Hydra personnel throughout the afternoon, so I think these gentlemen have everything they need."

Both agents turned to leave the lab when Kopersky's voice stopped them. "Oh, Agent Sitwell? Would you please have a word with Agent Barton? He missed his testing again today. We really do need to have consistent readings if we're to learn more-"

"I'll have a word with him, Doctor. Now, if you'll excuse me," Sitwell interrupted sternly, his eyes growing cold. "Chavez?"

Nodding, the younger agent fell in with the suited agent, following him out into the passageway. He looked at Sitwell in confusion. "What was _that_ all about?"

The bald agent sighed quietly. "That man is _obsessed_. Ever since the incident on the carrier bridge when we were limping into drydock- you recall when they pulled Reagan out of the Brig, right? Well, Agent Barton showed some rather impressive hacking skills. He fights with a medieval weapon with the occasional gun thrown into the mix, for crying out loud. Computer-based espionage is something that's touched on in advanced training, but it's never been his forte."

"But he _wrote_ that virus, sir. I mean, Reagan got him the base code to save on time because the Boss was in a hurry, but the part where it shut down the systems? That was Hawkeye," Chavez argued.

"We know. The thing is, he shouldn't be able to do that sort of thing. At least, we don't _think_ he should be able to. The man has secrets; all of the senior agents do. Another thing that's caught the attention of R&D is his new arrow designs. They've been unable to figure them out yet, and it's driving Kopersky nuts."

The former mercenary quieted for a moment. He looked at Sitwell again. "Do they think it was the Tesseract?"

Sitwell paused, a strange look on his face. "Why do you say that?"

"Something the doc said. You know, ?" Chavez leaned closer. "He and the Green Man were talking with Hawkeye about the cube. The doc said it was more than knowledge- it was truth, or something like that."

"That makes a strange sort of sense. I'll pass it on to Coulson." The agent began moving again, pulling out his cellphone and dialed a number before putting it up to his ear. "It's Sitwell. Operation Gremlin is a go."

Chavez watched in confusion as the agent hung up the phone and began whistling. "Is this another thing I don't wanna know?"

"Alonzo," Sitwell said, fixing him with a steely gaze. Pulling his glasses off to wipe them with a small cloth, Sitwell continued, his words growing bold as he began to show what most people wouldn't expect from such a mild-mannered person: pure nerve. "Agent Barton has had his life turned inside out because of that damn cube. To top that off, R&D is grilling him about designs that only he seems to understand. They're demanding he take weekly IQ tests to see if these improvements in his ability to design weaponry and apparently hack high-level firewalls and secure control systems will be a permanent change or not. He's had a multitude of various scans run to determine just what that thing did to him."

The older agent continued, speaking firmly. "Barton is my friend, and I will not stand by while the researchers try to turn him into a lab rat just to satisfy some egghead's curiosity. He's been through enough. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to see a man about some malfunctioning weaponry."

Chavez watched the agent walk away, his hands in his pockets and whistling a merry tune. He smiled, not sure if he wanted to know the details of just what Sitwell had in mind.

* * *

_Two days later…_

"Hey Chavez, you coming with us? Chowtime, man!" Peterson called, waving at him. Reagan and the Twins were with the Ops agent, heading for the mess decks.

Chavez smiled, joining the small group. They were sharing stories about their recent missions, trying to get to know one another better. Luckily, there were more people than the Minions had originally thought that came from the same background, so it wasn't as hard as they expected to fit in.

It was slow going, but they were settling in to SHIELD nicely.

Peterson was in charge of the Forward Armory, and had been one of the first of the Operations agents to extend a warm hand to them. After the armorer had gotten to know them better and spread the word, others had warmed up to them.

"They gotta do something about these weapons. There's way too many tune-ups needed all of a sudden," Peterson complained. "I've had seven weapons over the last two days turned in."

Reagan's eyebrow twitched. "I suppose R&D's looking into it?"

"Yeah- they're about to do a recall, I swear."

One of the twins raised his hands, jumping slightly from side to side like an excited child. "Ooh, ooh, I know! I know!_ Gremlins_ did it!"

Three sets of skeptical eyes turned to face the smiling man. He drew himself up to his full height as his twin elbowed him sharply in the side.

"Ya big _dummy_," the other twin scolded softly.

Peterson arched and eyebrow. "Gremlins… "

"Uh, pirates?" the Twin offered. His brother gave him a scathing look.

Chavez groaned. "Why is it always pirates with you guys?"

They shrugged, speaking in unison. "Why _not_ pirates?"

Lining up in the mess hall, they each filled their trays, piling them with more of the standard ship fare. Reagan complained yet again about the lack of salt, threatening to sneak in and lace the cooking supplies or adjust the ship's recipe database.

"I can do it, man- just give me _ten_ minutes with a computer. All I ask for is a little seasoning, ya know?"

Sitting down, he attacked his meal with fervor, like the rest of the agents at the table. The four men ate in silence, listening in to the ambient noises of the other agents. Chavez relaxed, knowing that there were no nervous glares or odd looks pointed in their direction.

"So, did you hear that Thor's back?" Peterson said suddenly, looking around at the others.

Reagan perked up. "You mean the big guy? _Blondie?_ I'd rather see the Hulk- now there's some _power_."

Chavez rolled his eyes. "Captain America's blond too. You, sir, are a _fanboy_."

The other man nodded. "Word has it Thor flew in last night in a _thunderstorm_. Bolts of lightning, dark clouds, the works."

"I'd just… rather not meet the guy in person, thank you," the Minions' leader replied briskly, shaking his head. There was no telling how the man would react, considering he was a friend of Agent Coulson's. Nobody had seen the Asgardian since his departure from Central Park.

Peterson laughed. "What- you still afraid of the Avengers or something? The attack was _months_ ago. If they wanted to retaliate, they woulda done it by now."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You weren't there when Loki took down Coulson," the former mercenary complained. "Thor is a rather large man up close, and he tends to use a rather heavy stone or metal hammer which I would rather not have planted upside my head."

The armorer grinned again. "Aw, don't worry about it buddy- we got your back."

Chavez smiled. Things were looking up. He had his college brochures courtesy of Sitwell, new friends courtesy of Peterson… what could go wrong?

Later, the group headed away from the mess decks when a pair of shouts followed by a strange sound rose from behind. It was a whistling noise- almost musical. Turning around, his eyes widened. "Oh, _shi-_"

His voice was cut off as he was thrown back by the force of a rather large, metal hammer striking his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Also, special thanks as well to the readers and reviewers- the fact that you're taking time to read my story and leave some cool feedback is a joy!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Several minutes earlier…._

"I am telling you, Son of Coul- a bilgesnipe hunt is the most exhilarating experience that one can have. Everyone participates; the hunters hunt, the scouts track the beast, and those that lack the ability to fight contribute to a magnificent feast that lasts for three days and three nights!" Thor's fist clenched dramatically as he regaled his companion with another story about the wonders of Asgard.

Phil Coulson had been the first person that Thor sought out upon his arrival to the SHIELD Helicarrier. The large warrior had picked the agent up in a bear hug, exclaiming his happiness that the Valkyries had deemed him worthy of returning to continue his good deeds on Midgard. Coulson had been tempted to advise him that the announcement of his death had _not_ been another of Fury's plots, but considering what the man had done to his prized collection of vintage Captain America cards, he thought the one-eyed leader was due for a good sweat.

"Maybe someday," Coulson replied with a chuckle, deftly side-stepping the invitation. "Unfortunately, we've been a bit busy on the home front, and it doesn't leave much room for hunting trips."

"Another time, then!" The warrior clapped his hand on Coulson's shoulder lightly, trying to be mindful of his strength.

The agent smiled, bracing himself for the Asgardian's over-exuberant gesture. "If you'll follow me this way, the Director would like to have a word with you."

They continued to head below decks, their destination being Fury's office. Thor had mentioned having news from Asgard that he wished to share with the spymaster, as well as discussing a more permanent position with the rest of his newfound comrades.

Coulson was just explaining the fascination with the concept of trading cards when the large warrior stopped in his tracks. Thor was staring intently down the passageway, his eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip on Mjolnir's handle. "What's wrong, Thor?"

"There is an intruder aboard your vessel, Son of Coul," the Asgardian snarled. "I spy one of the villains that attacked this carrier ship the last time I was here on Midgard."

The SHIELD agent peered in the same direction as Thor, trying to catch a glimpse of anything out of the ordinary. There were Ops teams wandering in and out of the mess decks, several suited agents interspersed among them. A small cluster of scientists were arguing with each other, making movements with their cutlery and moving condiments around in a pattern.

No faces stood out as unknowns, enemies, or suspected personnel. As Coulson turned back to Thor, one face did catch the corner of his eye. Chavez, leaving the mess decks with most of his team and one of the armorers. A warning bell rang in the back of the veteran agent's mind as he realized what had sparked Thor's ire.

Chavez had been one of the mercenary invaders that attacked the Helicarrier. He had also most likely been the one to have hit the release button that unlocked the Hulk Cage, though to be honest, Loki probably hadn't needed the help, considering his magical abilities.

Chavez also was the only invader that hadn't been wearing a helmet, making his face visible to the newly trapped Thor. Loki then proceeded to stab Coulson in front of Thor after the agent had knocked the mercenary out.

Apparently, nobody had thought to tell Thor that poor Chavez was one of the good guys now.

Before Coulson could stop him, Thor was reaching back and hurling the weapon down the passageway. Shouts of alarm rose as agents and crewmen dodged out of the way while Mjolnir spun end over end. Thor charged after his weapon, intent on turning the "intruder" into a fine smear on the deck plates.

Coulson reached down to his waist for his radio and groaned. Barton and Sitwell were going to _kill_ him. Running after the demigod, he shouted, "_Wait, Thor! He's not an intruder! Stop!_"

* * *

Chavez's chest was on fire. There was a strange sense of disconnection as he hit the deck, skidding backwards another five feet until his slide was stopped by a bulkhead hatch frame. He looked up groggily, noticing a hammer flying back the direction it had come from.

Several heads poked out of the entry to the mess decks, gaping at his prone form. Their heads jerked the other way suddenly, following the hammer. There was a mighty bellow, and the downed agent spotted the large figure headed his way.

"Unh… " he groaned, still stunned from the blow. Thor had covered half of the distance already, and was still charging until a leg shot out from one of the mess deck entry doors, tripping the warrior. Chavez heard a curse as the leg was jerked back.

The large form of Agent Hartwell slammed into Thor, taking him down in a tackle. The agent looked up at the former mercenary with a feral grin. "What're you waitin' for, Jarhead? _Move your ass!_"

Chavez chose not to waste the efforts of the other agents. He grabbed onto a pipe, using it to lever himself up. Reagan swooped in behind him, grabbing onto his tactical vest and hauling him up the rest of the way. Together, they ran for their lives.

His breathing was becoming more labored as they moved. Each time he stumbled, Reagan clutched tighter, urging him onward. "C'mon, Alonzo- keep it moving. Keep it moving, buddy."

"Can't… breathe… " Chavez panted, his chest feeling more and more like a weight had settled on it. The tech looked back, then glanced around until he spotted one of the research labs. The team leader was dragged into the lab, where Reagan set him down gently.

Pete reached back to the door, triggering the panic lock. A loud _thunk _told him that the bolt had slammed into place, effectively sealing the lab. He then pressed another control, dimming the lights. Chavez sunk down to the floor, crawling away from the window and towards a lab bench.

Taking an inventory of his condition, Chavez's medic training told him that he was in deep shit. The sharp pains in his torso told him that there were most likely damaged ribs, the tightness and aching could mean torn muscles or some other internal damage. He needed to get to Medical, _fast_.

"Shit," the tech swore, reaching behind him. He turned to face his wheezing team leader. "My freakin' taser's gone!"

* * *

Jed sprang into action first, lifting Reagan's modified "Multi-Taser" from his belt pouch as the tech ran past him to assist their fallen team leader. He didn't know who the cool looking guy was that had creamed Chavez with a flying hammer, but he was _so_ going down for it.

The Twins didn't play by the rules. Ever.

Knowing his twin, Ted had already slipped into the electrical crawlspace above the mess decks to set up for a "Keystone Switcheroo." Hopefully, the big guy wasn't as smart as some of the agents here, and hadn't caught wind of their presence.

The last week had been spent familiarizing themselves with each nook and cranny on the Helicarrier, and by now they knew the vessel as well as most of the maintenance crew. It was time for Improvised Distraction Plan Number Five.

Hartwell was still clinging to the Asgardian like a leech, trying in vain to wrestle him into submission. The large agent was one of, if not _the_ largest of SHIELD agents, and didn't seem to notice the difference in strength. Thor stood easily, ignoring the man trying to pin him down.

"Cease this nonsense," the warrior ordered, reaching up behind his shoulders to try to take hold of Hartwell. "I am _not_ your enemy!"

"Shut the hell up, Blondie! I still owe you for New Mexico," the large man growled in his ear, grunting with the effort of wrestling the demigod. "Not to mention, you just… dropped one of my _boys_, asshole. Can't… have that!"

The SHIELD agent's grip tightened, and as Thor spun around to try to dislodge him, Hartwell's legs braced against the bulkhead. He twisted his torso, tucking his legs in and pushing off the structure in an attempt to drive his opponent's head into a large strut.

Thor's head struck the beam with a clang, leaving a large dent in the metal. His eyes narrowed, and with a mighty bellow, seized hold of Hartwell's tactical vest and pulled. Another yank had the agent off his back. He tossed the large man like a piece of firewood into the mess decks. With a crash, the man landed against the far bulkhead and fell to the floor, unconscious.

Dusting himself off, the Asgardian frowned as he noticed that his cloak had been ripped off, and lay clutched in the large agent's hand. Turning back to the passageway, he pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and continued on, searching for the villain that had once again snuck aboard the carrier. He smiled; let the brave Midgardian keep his trophy.

He hadn't gotten far when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned around with a grumble. There was a small, lithe Midgardian standing in front of him with a broad smile.

The little man continued smiling. Thor frowned again. Something was a bit… off. The agent crooked his finger, beckoning him closer as if to tell him a secret. Maybe this one wasn't be-spelled like the others who had assisted his quarry.

He leaned closer to the small Midgardian. As the Son of Coul's voice finally met his ears, warning him to stop, the little man brought a small device out from behind his back and thrust it into his ear and pulled the trigger.

Thor felt lightning sear his brain, stunning him. He fell to the deck in a sitting position, his hand held to his head. The little Midgardian waved at him and darted down a side passageway, away from the agents that had clustered around the larger one that had dared to fight him.

"_What sorcery is this?"_ the Asgardian bellowed, shaking off the numbness that had filled his body. He stood, wavering slightly as he chased after his new enemy.

* * *

"We've contacted Captain Rogers. He's on his way, but they've got to prep the jet. Iron Man is on the way though," Sitwell stood, gaping at the scene. He blinked, turning to Coulson. "Did one of the Twins just _taze_ Thor?"

"Crazy little bastard," another agent muttered as they assisted the newly-arrived med team with Hartwell. They heaved the man onto a stretcher; his hands refused to relinquish their death grip on the torn cape. "Yeesh, this guy weighs a ton."

"_Would _someone_ like to explain why a damn demigod is running berserk through my Helicarrier? _Again_? Where the hell are you, Coulson? _Coulson_!"_ Fury's voice shrieked through the radio handset. As he continued to rant, the handset was passed from agent to agent, each holding the squawking item with their thumb and pointer fingers. The SHIELD crew flinched as the threats worsened, each phrase growing more and more creative.

"It's like New Mexico all over again." Coulson looked resigned, his head held in his hands. "There is going to be _so_ much paperwork."

* * *

Jed's hand reached up to his ear, triggering his earpiece. "Phase one complete- the bull is in the china shop!"

"_Ready for Phase Two,"_ Ted's voice replied, a tinny echo distorting the sound. _"Droppin' in three… two… one…"_

Ducking behind another corner, Jed immediately threw open the door to a conveniently situated supply closet, watching through the slatted vents in the door as Thor thundered past. He smiled as he watched his brother slip down from the crawlspace.

Ted let out a sharp whistle, catching the Asgardian's attention again. The large man growled, turning around to pursue the Twin. Phase Two, begin.

As soon as the two had left the corridor, Jed jumped up, catching hold of the crawlspace access and lifting himself upwards. Crawling in a different direction, he took a shortcut to intercept Thor and Ted to take his turn as the bait.

* * *

Thor's patience was running out.

Every time Thor thought he had caught up with the little man, he disappeared around another corner. The infuriating Midgardian would simply vanish, only to catch him from behind with one of young Darcy's "Taser" devices or slip out from some unknown corridor. If the coward wasn't popping out of a closet, he was dropping down from the ceiling!

Turning around again, he swung a fist at the smaller man who deftly dropped down, tumbled between his legs, and rose from the crouch into a standing position in one smooth motion before running down the passageway. He watched as the man quickly climbed a ladderwell, taking two steps at a time.

Hefting Mjolnir, he followed the Midgardian up to what the men on the ship had called the "flight deck." The salty air blew past him, flinging his hair back. Thor smiled as he realized his advantage. The little man was fast, but he couldn't _fly._

Spying a glowing trail in the distance, he identified it as Iron Man, coming to his aid no doubt. Spinning the metal hammer, he let Mjolnir's magic hurl him through the air, catching up to the smaller Midgardian. He caught the little man, picking him up by the front of his vest and bringing him closer.

"_I have you now, you strange, _infuriating_ little man!" _he shouted with glee as his enemy flailed, trying to escape his grip.

"Whatcha got there, Point Break?" Iron Man asked, his voice projected through the speakers in his metal suit as he landed in his usual kneeling position. The mask lifted as he stood, revealing Stark's face. "Care to put the little guy down? Fury's not gonna like you squishing his minions!"

"Yeah! What he said!" the small man shouted, looking back and forth between the two Avengers. His hands gripped Thor's bracers firmly, trying to keep from falling off the carrier while it was in mid-air.

"I will not release this villain to wreak havoc on this vessel," the Asgardian bellowed, his eyes wide with rage. "I shall not allow anyone to be harmed by this pirate and his comrade!"

"Pirate?" the little man hissed. "_Pirate?_ That's _it_. Nobody _ever_ calls me a pirate!"

Stark watched as Thor was surprised by his opponent for the second time that day as the man reeled a leg back and kicked him firmly in the groin. Thor bellowed with rage, but held on to the little agent. The engineer winced in sympathy; demigod he may be, but no sane man ignored a kick to the family jewels. He instantly fell sorry for the poor bastard that was just crazy enough to try it on a man twice his size.

Several groups of SHIELD agents were approaching at a run, including the familiar faces of Sitwell and Coulson. They were shouting, guns drawn, with panicked looks on their faces. Stepping up to Thor, Stark put a metal gauntlet on the larger man's shoulder, only to be shoved away.

Thor's version of a shove tended to cause regular humans to be unceremoniously tossed back at least twenty feet, and this was no exception. There were several sparks as the metal suit scraped along the non-skid deck.

"Oh, _right_. That whole personal boundary thing," the engineer groaned after his slide had ended. He maneuvered himself back up to a sitting position to see something he had hoped could be avoided. The suit was not being as cooperative as he would like, and he struggled to stand in time. "_That's_ not good. Thor, _don't-_"

With a roar, the enraged Thor hurled the unfortunate SHIELD agent over the side of the carrier.

"Throw him off the carrier," Stark finished glumly as the other agents arrived. They clustered over the edge in shock, helpless to do anything. The engineer's eyes widened as he noticed one of the agents, who was calling a name in a panic. The man was identical to the one that had been tossed overboard. He was a damn _twin_.

"Ted! _Ted!_ _Come back!_"

Stark watched in silence as the twin fell to his knees. Two other agents that looked familiar knelt down, patting his shoulder and holding him back from jumping after his brother. To his right, Coulson was speaking hurriedly into a radio. What he felt it would accomplish was anyone's guess. He was about to activate his stabilizers when another dark-suited form with a helmet and goggles ran by, leaping over the side.

A voice blared over the ship's intercom system. _"MAN OVERBOARD, MAN OVERBOARD! ALL HANDS TO YOUR MAN OVERBOARD STATIONS! READY QUINJET SIX-ALPHA-NINER FOR RECOVERY DETAIL! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"_

"What the hell is going on?" Stark demanded, turning to face Coulson. The agent was still speaking to his radio, ignoring the engineer.

Sitwell moved closer, a worried expression on his face. "This is an _airship_, Mr. Stark. Do you think we wouldn't have contingencies for a situation like this?"

"But… that second one…" Tony stammered, looking back over at the other agents and the edge of the flight deck. "He just ran over and jumped after him!"

"We have a man overboard watch set twenty-four seven while we're in the air," Sitwell explained. "The agent that dived over willingly is a trained parajumper."

Stark realized that there was a chance the crazy little bastard just might make it through this.

* * *

Ted hurtled through the air, the wind tugging at his coat and pants. Instinctively, he spread his limbs to try to slow his fall. If he hadn't known he was about to die, the sensation of flying would be more enjoyable.

He had always dreamed of soaring, but he had understood that people didn't have wings. Unless you were a mutant, of course. Getting tossed off of the ship hadn't exactly been part of Improvised Distraction Plan Number Five, but the only regret he had was that he would be leaving his twin- his other half- by himself, and that hurt more than any wound he had received in his life.

Chavez would look after Jed; they both trusted their leader to take care of them, to have their back, and to look after them as any good leader should. His twin would be sad, but he would have the rest of the team for company until he could finish Operation Get Rid of The Pirate King.

The carrier was shrinking as he fell closer to the ocean. Ted turned his head back to face his destiny as he neared the endless sea of blue.

A heavy weight impacted his midsection, and a strong set of arms and legs wrapped around him. One hand reached over to press a control on a panel located on the other wrist. There was a strong jerk as they were yanked upwards, slowing the descent.

"What the-" Ted sputtered, looking up to see a parachute.

A familiar voice spoke, the person's voice raised over the wind. "Hold tight, buddy- I got ya!"

Ted whooped as they floated down towards the water. His rescuer pressed another control right before they hit the water, releasing the parachute straps to allow them to fall into the water safety. Next, he released a cloud of dye in the water to mark their location.

The Twin laughed as they began to tread water, waiting for their rescue. "Can we do that again?"

Iron Man landed on the flight deck, a soaked agent held in each hand. He set them gently down onto the deck as the medical team ran up. Wrapping the pair up in towels, the med team began giving them a quick once-over to make sure they hadn't been injured.

Jed ran up, pulling his brother into a hug and refusing to let go until he turned to hug the parachutist that had saved Ted.

Stark watched the reunion with a smile. "Well, young man- welcome to the Victim of Asgardian-Induced Defenestration Club."

"He wasn't thrown out a window, Stark," Coulson corrected with a sigh, watching as Thor engaged in an argument with Agent Hill over the appropriate procedures for reporting suspicious activity on a SHIELD vessel. He wasn't sure who was winning.

Tony smirked. "Close enough for me."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Also, special thanks as well to the readers and reviewers- the fact that you're taking time to read my story and leave some cool feedback is a joy!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters Medical Wing…_

Chavez woke to find himself in a white room. He was dressed in a medical gown, tucked under a blanket on a less than comfortable gurney. An IV was taped to his hand, and monitors beeped regularly to his left.

Oyuki sat in a chair next to him, watching an animated film on his tablet. His feet were propped up on one of the lower bed struts as he leaned the chair back on its back legs. Letting out a giggle, he stared at the screen until Chavez cleared his throat.

"What, no tentacles?" the team leader asked wearily.

Oyuki held up the tablet, showing an angsty teenager piloting a giant robot, firing an energy pulse at a rather large creature. "Only the monsters this time. This main character, though, he's got some _serious_ mental issues."

"Thought teen drama wasn't your thing," Chavez teased, testing his ribs with a little pressure from his hand. Yup, still hurt.

His friend shrugged. "Finished up the episodes of La Blue Girl. Haven't had time to download anything else."

Chavez laughed weakly, holding his sides. "_Shit_, that hurts. What the hell happened?"

"_Apparently_," Carl drawled, "Thor recognized you from the Loki Incident and nailed you with Mullet-whatsit. Then, while you high-tailed it outta there, Hartwell got tossed across the mess decks. He's fine, by the way. Said something about wanting a rematch or some shit."

"How'd they stop him? Thor, I mean. He looked pretty pissed," the Minion leader croaked.

"Uh… _yeah_- that was the _fun_ part,"Oyuki put the tablet down. "We almost lost one of the Twins."

Chavez's eyes widened. "How-"

"Well, they did this weird Keystone Cops routine. One of them tazed Thor with Reagan's joy buzzer, then they led him up to the flight deck. He thought they were both the same guy, and man… they really pissed him off, ya know?"

"They're good at that. Wait- one of 'em _tazed_ Thor?"

Carl laughed quietly. "Yeah. Can you believe it? But that's not the craziest part."

"You gotta be kidding. There's more?" Chavez asked. The Twins were crazy little bastards, but he hadn't thought they were crazy enough to take on a damn demigod. "What else is there?"

"Yup. Y'see, by the time they led him up to the flight deck, he was already pissed. Then, Thor got a hold of Ted and basically called him a pirate."

Chavez groaned. That was the worse insult that anyone could have called either of the Twins. They hated pirates in any way, shape or form. It was enough to drive them to do creative, terrible things to the transgressor.

"Anyway," Oyuki continued, "the stupid little shit kicked Thor in the balls. Needless to say, that really pissed the big guy off, and he tossed Ted over the side."

"We were in _mid-air_," the team leader said, an incredulous look on his face.

His friend nodded. "Thank God for the man overboard watch. Your buddy Regis was on duty. He jumped after him and caught him before he hit the water. Saved his life."

"Thank God," he replied, laying back on the pillow. Chavez noticed another person in the room as he looked forward. "So, what's up with _him?_"

"Oh, him? He's been here the last couple days. I think he's trying to make sure you don't get squished by Thor again." Oyuki motioned towards the other occupant with a thumb. "Man… he is _out_."

Chavez's gaze returned to the other man. Hawkeye sat, fast asleep, sprawled on a chair in an uncomfortable looking position, a notebook tucked under an arm that was laid across his chest. The other arm was dangling due to the lack of an armrest.

A dog was laying at his feet- a large German Shepherd. It watched them with wary, brown eyes.

"I didn't realize they let animals in here," he observed. "That one looks kinda… grumpy."

"His name's Arrow. They let him in here because officially, he's supposed to be some kind of therapy or something for the Boss. Unofficially, I think they don't wanna piss off the guy who almost took down SHIELD in a rather short amount of time with minimal assistance."

Chavez watched the archer stir in the chair slightly, mumble, and fall silent again. "You're right. He _is_ out."

"Agent Romanoff came in and gave him a cup of coffee and a couple breakfast sandwiches. He zonked about ten minutes after he finished."

"She drugged him?" the medic-trained agent suggested.

The other man shrugged. "He probably needed it. I don't think he slept the entire time he's been here. Always writing in that little notebook of his."

"Do you think he's having a Tesseract relapse?"

Oyuki shook his head. "Naw, I think he just forgot again or something. Seriously, the guy's a _machine_."

"So," Chavez asked, changing the subject. He nodded towards where he knew his chart would be hanging. "What's the damage?"

Reaching over to pluck the clipboard from its hook, Oyuki flipped through the pages, trying to decipher the notes.

"We've got multiple fractured ribs- those _hurt_, by the way, broken sternum, severe contusions on the lungs from the impact, and lots and lots of bruises. Oh, not to mention a rather nasty concussion. Your tac vest absorbed a lot of the impact when the hammer hit," his friend told him. A serious expression crossed his face. "Alonzo, if you hadn't worn that vest… you'd probably be dead."

"Guess I need to write Kevlar a thank you note," Chavez said with a grin.

Oyuki shook his head again. "Ya know, if you hadn't left the mess decks at _just_ that minute, we wouldn't be in this mess?"

Alonzo sighed in resignation. "Yeah, man. Wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life."

* * *

Two hours later, Chavez's next visitor was Sitwell, who came bearing gifts. Or, at least one gift.

The agent gave him a quick rundown of the situation: he had been flown from the carrier once he had been stabilized, and then spent several hours in surgery while they repaired the damaged ribs and broken sternum. He would be down for a while.

"Thor was rather… remorseful," Sitwell added, tightening his grip on the clothbound package he held under one arm. "He was under a lot of recent stress with some unfortunate events happening on Asgard, and was a bit jumpy. Needless to say, he admits to jumping the gun a bit."

"A bit," Chavez repeated incredulously. The man had nearly crushed his chest in with a magic hammer.

The other agent grimaced. "He apparently thought you were invading the ship again."

"But… that was months ago! Loki's supposed to be back on Asgard, isn't he?"

"That brings up another subject, unfortunately. The Asgardians suspect that he may be in contact with someone here on Earth. I want you and the others to be careful, Chavez. Whoever it is that he's in contact with, they may try to retaliate against you or even try to recruit all of you since you've worked with him before."

Chavez snorted. "Like that's gonna happen. We wouldn't make that mistake again."

"They have a different idea of what constitutes loyalty, it would seem," Coulson's voice added as he walked into the room. He wore an apologetic look on his face. "I am glad to see that your loyalties remain with us, considering the last few days."

"It's not every day a demigod decks you," the younger agent replied sourly.

Coulson stiffened. "That was our fault. Nobody had advised him that you were no longer a team of enemy combatants, and I didn't realize who he was trying to warn us about in time to stop him. Not one of my finer moments, I assure you."

"Meaning we weren't high enough on SHIELD's radar to think to mention it to someone who can flatten a building with a flick of his wrist?" Chavez repeated bitterly. He looked mortified as he realized what he had said to his superiors. "Uh… sorry. They've got me on pain meds. They're loosening the filters a bit."

"You have every right to be angry," Coulson said. "We should have warned him, especially since you were on the carrier. Though, his arrival was a bit unexpected, and we've gotten used to having you gentlemen around. I like to think of it as a success; you've become part of the team."

The Minion team leader smiled. "Well, it _was_ pretty cool when Hartwell tackled him. Remind me to thank him for that. It's nice to know they've got our backs too, you know?"

Sitwell smiled. "Truly. Thor did send this for you by way of an apology."

Chavez took the package from his handler. It was rectangular in shape, wrapped in a sturdy cloth and tied together with a silken cord. He untied the cord, gently unwrapping the outer layer to reveal a large, aged leatherbound book. There were runes written across the front that looked like something out of a Tolkein novel, or an old Norse tablet he had studied years ago in one of his college history classes.

He opened the tome to the first page as Sitwell continued. "He was a bit mortified when we explained the situation to him- that you were working for Barton, technically, and not Loki. The big guy's still trying to work out how things are done here versus back in Asgard. It's a rather large oopsie to attack the subordinate of one of your allies without cause."

"What do you mean, sir?" Chavez asked, looking up from the runic script. Several pages later, a series of columns displayed a listing of more runes paired up with words written in English. It looked like a dictionary.

"It means that by Asgardian law, you're technically Hawkeye's responsibility since he hired you in the first place. So, by their reasoning, he should have discussed the issue with Barton," Coulson explained. "Think of it as following the chain of command."

"Okay. Makes a weird sort of sense, I guess. We work for SHIELD, though. Wouldn't that change the rules?"

Coulson smiled. "Somewhat, but remember, Barton works for SHIELD as well. That doesn't change the fact that Barton 'gently' advised Thor that again, he takes responsibility for your team, considering you may not be here working for SHIELD if he hadn't brought you in when you were in the Tomb. That, as well as some comments from your fellow agents makes him your 'liege lord' in Asgard's eyes, which affords you some protection since Thor considers Hawkeye a brother-in-arms."

More fuel to add to the whole 'Merry Men' joke, Chavez thought. Even _Asgard_ was endorsing the nickname now. "Sounds cool. So, what's with the book?"

"Ah," Sitwell replied, chuckling lightly. "Thor made mention of reparations, or something like that. Barton mentioned you were looking at taking up your studies again in Linguistics, so Thor asked that they send a gift from his palace's library. Apparently, it's one of their best language primers in use by the royal family, and he wanted you to have it as a way of apologizing for his impulsiveness, and has offered instruction on the Asgardian language. I hesitate to guess what he offered as reparations to Agent Sanders."

"Wow," the younger agent commented. The book was truly unique; there was gold filigree decorating the spine and cover, which was a tough chocolate brown leather. Inside, the lettering was written in a crisp, clear script, with the occasional illustration. "It's… _beautiful_."

"One of a kind," Coulson remarked with admiration, a glint shining in his eyes. He knew the value of a collector's item. "Hawkeye would have liked to give it to you himself, I'm sure, but he appears to be a bit indisposed at the moment."

The men glanced over at the still slumbering Barton. Chavez looked back up to Coulson. "Shouldn't somebody, you know, _move_ him or something?"

"We've tried," Sitwell replied with resignation.

There was a low growl from the German Shepherd, as if in answer to his question. Coulson sighed, looked at the canine, and then back at Chavez and Sitwell. "You're welcome to give it a shot if you like."

* * *

The holidays came sooner than Chavez expected. Advertisements for Black Friday were plastered all over the television channels, turkeys went on sale, and families gathered for the yearly tradition of Thanksgiving. He gave a wistful look to a poster in a window that showed a family gathered around a feast.

Reagan had been on cloud nine once they received their orders: they were being transferred to New York City. SHIELD Headquarters, to be exact. The Council had been nervous about having the team that had helped Loki so close to HQ, but Fury had headed off any suspicions about the team with the old "keep your friends close but your enemies closer" explanation.

Thor had been true to his word, and the former mercenary was enjoying his Asgardian language lessons. It was very similar to Old Norse, but there were subtle differences that made it slightly more difficult to learn. Another aspect of the lessons was to learn how to translate Asgardian runes, which was a whole other ballgame in itself.

He wasn't sure what to do for the approaching holidays. The Twins had plans that they hadn't shared with anyone, Oyuki had flown back to see his family while the team was on stand down, and Reagan's folks were here, which kept the man from having to go far for a visit.

Someday, Chavez hoped to be able to talk to his own family again too.

He winced as he felt an ache in his ribs. Carl was right- broken ribs _did_ suck. He felt much better than he had two months ago due to SHIELD's advancements in medical technology, but he still felt the odd twinge every now and then.

There was a quick set of beeps as his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and pressed a button to answer it. "Chavez."

"_Yo, Chavez,"_ Reagan's excitable voice answered. _"How's it shakin', bacon?"_

"Hey, man. How you doing?"

"_Not bad. R and D pulled me in to take a look at some weapon malfunctions. I'm not seeing anything wrong- that's the thing! The guys are stumped. One minute, we got an Ops agent coming in reporting his trigger froze, or her loading ramp locked up, but when they bring it in, there's no problem. Damn things are brand new. It's driving Peterson nuts. Oh, you hear they moved him to HQ? Apparently he got into it with Kopersky and the doc tried to fry him with one of the uh, special projects."_

"Naw, that's news to me. You know they've had me on medical leave. I've been hanging out at the Barracks most of my time. I think this is one of the first times I've been outdoors ever since the carrier."

"_Damn. That sucks. That's gotta have you stir crazy by now."_

"Not really," Chavez replied happily. "Sitwell got me into one of the local colleges for the semester since I'll be on light duty. Might as well get a semester in, right?"

"_You're going back to school? That's great, buddy!"_

"Yeah. I'm gonna finish my degree. They do online courses, so once I get back in the field, it shouldn't hold me back too much."

"_Yeah- my Ma's still buggin' me to go back too. I might, one of these days."_

Chavez laughed. Reagan had told many stories of his rather overbearing mother. From his teammate's description, the woman was a bit of a tyrant, but a loving one who ruled and defended her family with an iron fist and a steel frying pan.

Pete's voice continued._ "So, enjoying your forced vacation?"_

He chuckled. "Yeah. Physical therapy's going well. They're looking at clearing me for duty next week."

"_Nice! Say, uh… we're having Thanksgiving dinner at my parent's house, and Ma wanted me to tell ya that there's room for more at the table if you don't have other plans. I know you don't talk to your family, so, uh… "_ Reagan trailed off nervously. _"Look, nobody should be alone for the holidays, Alonzo."_

He thought about the invitation. Everyone seemed to have plans; even the _Twins_ had plans. "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Nick Fury left his office again, stopping short as he noticed something off. His eye narrowed. They were at it again. Squatting down, he caught sight of a loosely stretched tripwire. With a sigh, he pulled a knife out of his pocket and cut the thin cord. Amateurs.

Following the string back to its origin, he located a large net secured in the ceiling tiles. An echoing scuttle faded as one of the likely perpetrators escaped through the air vents. "You gotta be shittin' me."

He made quick work of removing the nets, rolling them up and tying them together with a piece of the cut string. The spymaster tucked it under one arm, returned to the office and deposited it into a large box that contained several other similar items.

This hadn't been the first time Fury had disabled a poorly set booby trap. So far, there had been a pit trap outside his bathroom, laxatives in his food twice, a set of snares in the hallway, and a variety of other improvised devices. So far, he hadn't retaliated. Yet.

Fury had a pretty good idea who it was that was doing it, but the question was _why_.

Not that he minded. Most would see the traps as an annoyance or an attack, but Fury saw them as a challenge. Too much of his time had been spent fighting through paperwork, yelling at his agents, or arguing with the so-called World Security Council. They might be his bosses officially, but that didn't mean he couldn't fantasize about bringing them all to an untimely end in some rather creative fashions.

First, though, he needed to deal with his little vent infestation. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear as he left his office again.

"_You have reached the life model decoy-"_

He rolled his eyes. "Cut the shit, Stark. I need your particular expertise."

"_Anything to help a friend,"_ Stark's sarcastic voice replied. _"My official consulting hours have changed, you know."_

"This is an unofficial request- consider it a personal favor."

"_Hmm… I'm intrigued now. Please, do go on!"_

Fury smiled, causing two passing agents to shudder and skitter out of his way. "I need a little help with some pest control."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Also, special thanks as well to the readers and reviewers- the fact that you're taking time to read my story and leave some cool feedback is a joy!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Somewhere in Germany..._

"Next time you wanna drag me on one of your little field trips, Stark, _I_ get to fly the damn plane," Hawkeye complained, his voice slightly slurred as he tried to clear the fog from his head.

The engineer huffed in response. "Next time I'm just going to fly myself, birdbrain."

Clint tested his bonds, yanking his hands back and forth. Whoever had them trapped had done their homework. His hands were tied to the chair, a strong cord binding each limb. His chest and upper arms were similarly tied down, making it impossible to wriggle free. He cursed, looking around for his traveling companion.

Stark had somehow talked him into accompanying him to an engineering conference in Switzerland, citing that he needed someone to keep the ladies from mauling him, and since Bruce wasn't interested, it might as well be Barton. Steve was currently on another road trip to visit his last surviving war buddy, Natasha was already on another mission, and Thor was currently visiting with Dr. Selvig, leaving the archer as the only option.

His hackles had risen when Stark hadn't recognized the pilot, but the replacement had given a valid enough excuse, and Tony had checked the pilot's credentials before boarding. That apparently hadn't been enough, considering some sort of knockout gas had begun filling the passenger compartment while they were over Portugal. The next thing Clint knew, he was waking up tied to a chair.

This was getting old.

Stark had taken longer to wake up and found himself in the same predicament. His bracelets had been removed, as well as anything electronic. There was a creak as he tested his own bonds. Both men had immediately taken stock of their surroundings, ready to begin an escape plan.

"How the hell did you manage to get _that_ many weapons smuggled in your clothing? I mean, seriously- there's no way you can have that many pockets," Stark moaned, jerking his head towards the nearby workbench that held their belongings. It was piled high with small knives, a garrote cord, three backup pistols, lockpicks and various other small weapons.

"Kiss my ass, Stark. We can't all have super-compacting metal armor suitcases," Clint argued, trying to wiggle his fingers again. "Besides, _you_ were the one that claimed this was a milk run. 'It'll be fun, Clint! Nobody shooting at you, beautiful Swedish women, an open bar?' You forgot to mention the free knockout gas during the in-flight movie, asshole."

"It's a damn _Engineering_ conference, Barton! Scientists, engineers, and inventors, oh my! No combat involved. Unless you count battles of will and brainpower."

Clint scoffed. "Yeah, and scientists aren't dangerous at _all_. Ever heard of AIM? Hydra? Oh, and remind me to show you a mirror sometime. Half of your damn conference is probably on our watch list."

"You were gonna be surrounded by eggheads and _geeks_, mister 'I respond with grunts and nods and the occasional arrow to the knee.' Face it, buddy; you're just mad that I'm forcing you to socialize."

"Yeah… like discussing Cantor's Theorem, quantum tunneling, and Schroedinger's equations really seems like my cup of tea," the archer replied with a snort.

Tony's head perked up. "How do you even _know_ about Cantor's Theorem? Isn't that a little advanced for a guy like you?"

"A guy like- wait, _what_?" Clint sputtered. He rolled his eyes; so many people underestimated him just because his primary job was killing people. "Appearances aren't always what they seem, Stark."

"You can say that again, Kat-"

"Call me that _one_ more time and I'm feeding your stereo to my dog," Barton warned. "_Damn_, these are tight."

Stark looked around the room again, taking in the details of an old barn. Ropes, dusty harnesses, and various types of sharp farm implements lined the walls. Hay bales lay stacked in the loft as well as along the walls, blocking some of the draft. "Not to change the subject or anything, but I _really_ hope you have a plan for getting us out of here."

"Uh… let me think about that while we listen to what will most likely be a rather wonderful wannabe super villain monologue."

"Ha," the engineer scoffed. "What makes you say that?"

Clint turned to face the door. "'Cause here they come."

Stark glanced up to see where Clint was looking. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Entering the door was a man in a labcoat, followed by five heavily armed Hydra guards. They took up flanking positions, pointing their guns at the SHIELD agent. The leader sauntered towards the pair of captives, smiling pleasantly. Clint frowned, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the man.

"What have we here?" the scientist gloated, reaching out to take hold of Clint's chin and tilting his head upwards. "Nice to see you again, Agent Barton. Though, I doubt our little meetings are going to be as pleasant as they have been for much longer."

Stark apparently couldn't help himself. "Aw, looks like someone's been having a fling and not telling anyone. Really, Legolas, I never would have guessed you had that sort of taste in-"

Clint rolled his eyes. Stark was starting to piss him off. "Just _shut up_, Stark. This is one of the assholes that kept trying to pick apart my brain on the carrier and at headquarters. So where's your boss, Tuller? I would've thought he'd just _love_ to have me as a captive audience again."

Tuller. Edward Tuller- assistant to Dr. Walter Kopersky, one of SHIELD's best weapons researchers, and a regular pain in the ass, in Clint's opinion. Something about the reedy man had always made him wary; now he knew the reason why.

"Yes, Dr. Kopersky. He's a bit… indisposed. My _real_ employers will be having a word with him soon enough, though he's a bit tied up at the moment," the assistant answered with a laugh.

Clint groaned. "That was _lame_, man- even for you."

"Now, now, no need to be uncivil, Agent Barton. You're in no position to be insulting me," the man hissed, moving his hand to the back of Clint's head and pulling his short hair back firmly. Tuller gazed into the archer's eyes and _tsked_ softly. "Ah, the eyes look so normal now. They were so _beautiful_ on the video feed. So _blue_."

He released his hand, laughing at the sudden nervousness showing on Clint's face. "Oh, don't worry, Agent Barton. I wouldn't dream of harming you… not while you make such a wonderful puppet!"

"Fuck you," Clint growled, pulling at his bonds with renewed strength. He would die before that happened again. "Once I get loose, I _will_ kill you_._"

"Idle threats, Barton, idle threats," Tuller taunted. He snapped his fingers, and one of the flunkies approached with a hand cart. The man pushed the chair slightly forward and loaded the agent, chair and all, onto the cart. Another one of the black-clad men jabbed a hypodermic into the agent's neck and pressed the plunger. "You see, I know _exactly_ how dangerous you can be. I'm taking every precaution until you're fully willing to join the team, so to speak."

Stark watched helplessly as his friend nodded off into unconsciousness, and was carted off to another section of the barn. There was a clanking and whirring, suggesting to the engineer that there may be a lift of some kind hidden in the building. He rolled his eyes. Of course there was a secret lift in an old barn, leading most likely to an underground lab of some sort. This situation was so cliché it was pathetic.

"Was this little scheme of yours just to get your hands on Barton? I suppose I should be a little miffed," Tony asked their captor, hoping to weasel out a bit more information. Knowledge was power, after all, and Tony Stark had plenty to spare.

The thugs soon returned, and brought their hand truck with them. Tony felt his chair tilt as he was loaded onto it. "What, no nap for me?"

"You're not a professional killer, Mr. Stark. Without your suit," Tuller nodded towards the bench where his red and silver case sat, "you're far from a threat."

"Hey! I resent that implication-" he argued as he was heaved up and carted over to the lift.

Tuller followed the group, calling warnings to his men. "Don't damage the reactor, gentlemen! We need it intact until we can get the new prototype built."

Tony's heart sank. They did have a purpose for bringing both of them here; he may as well have wrapped Barton and himself up in gift wrap and surrendered.

* * *

_Zurich, Switzerland..._

"He's been offline for too long," Jane complained. "We were supposed to meet here at noon- my lecture's in three days, and he promised to help me prepare!"

"I'm sure he just got held up, Dr. Foster," Natasha replied with a clipped tone. "Planes get delayed, could have had trouble finding a cab… "

"That's not like him, though," the young physicist countered, pulling out her phone to check her messages again. "He would have called. Erik's always been a stickler for that sort of thing."

Natasha sighed, pulling out her own phone to make a call. "Phrene, this is Agent Romanoff. Can you secure the line?"

Jane watched as the agent spoke quietly into the phone, breathing a sigh of relief as she heard the agent requesting a trace on one Erik Selvig. At least the woman was taking her concerns seriously. It was rare for her mentor to go so long without calling when they had arranged the meetup.

Ever since his disappearance and recovery months ago, the man had been depressed and withdrawn; it had taken the efforts of both Jane and Darcy to convince him to attend the conference, and even then it was only because Jane was presenting some of her recent astrological research

"He never got on the plane," Romanoff's voice cut in, putting her phone away. "They're going to start tracking him down. We'll find him, Dr. Foster."

Jane shot her a grateful look. The woman made her nervous, with her icy demeanor and quiet efficiency. Agent Romanoff was a dangerous opponent, the physicist was sure. She was thankful to have her keeping watch after the last few weeks.

"They'll keep me up to date," Romanoff continued. "For right now, I would suggest preparing for your speech."

The physicist frowned. "Erik, you had _better_ have been kidnapped by mad scientists or something."

* * *

"Aw, damn," Hawkeye groaned, his head wavering groggily as he woke up to find himself secured to another chair. Sitting across from he and Tony were two other familiar faces, both currently on his list of least favorite people. "You gotta be kidding."

"You okay, Barton?" Tony's concerned face swirled in a circle, making the archer squint.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head until he was hit with a wave of nausea. Shit, they had used sedatives again. "Yeah, just as soon as you guys stop multiplying and the world stops spinning."

"Well, take a deep breath. I hear it helps," the engineer offered kindly. "At least until you puke. Then you'll feel much better- get all that crap out of your system. It's really cleansing, in a metaphysical-"

"AC/DC albums, followed by Metallica, Stark. My dog hates heavy metal. They go first."

Tony harrumphed in indignation. "Now _that_, dear Legolas, is why I go digital."

Opening his eyes again, Clint groaned as he realized the other two scientists were not a hallucination. His two current scientific nemeses: Drs. Erik Selvig, and Walter Kopersky. He tried not to smile at the shiner decorating Kopersky's left eye.

The man had been hounding him ever since the Tesseract went back to Asgard, insisting on brain scans, IQ tests, blueprint examinations, and other assorted tests that made no sense to anyone else but he and his assistant.

Selvig was another story; the man had disliked SHIELD agents in general ever since New Mexico, and the feeling had become mutual when Clint took over the Tesseract security detail. The veteran agent had settled for watching over the scientist and his research team from a distance in order to avoid any conflicts and interruptions as well as to generally stay out of the man's way as Selvig had requested. Not that it had done any good when Loki arrived.

The Hydra goons returned, taking each man to take care of calls of nature, after which they were each deposited into a cell in a small hallway. Clint was again given the hypodermic treatment, his curses and threats growing more and more slurred as he fell limp. Unlike the other captives, he was dragged off into a side room, and the doors closed to block the prison section from view.

"Hey! Hey! Where are you taking him!" Tony called, concerned for his teammate. The man could be a pain in the ass, but Barton was still one of the only friends he had. Based on what the psycho holding them was saying, they were about to try to rip the man's psyche to shreds again.

_Over my dead body,_ he told himself. The only thing he could do now was to try to come up with a plan.

Standing up, he began to walk around the small cell, trying to find any possible means of escape. The door appeared to be made of heavy steel, most likely latched with a magnetic lock or electronic bolt. Either one he could work with, provided he could get to the wiring.

"It's no use," Kopersky moaned, rocking back and forth in his cell. "They've designed the doors with high level operatives in mind, I tell you. There's no way out."

"There's always a way out," Tony replied with a sniff. "I just haven't _found_ it yet."

Selvig's chuckle joined in for the first time. "You sound like Jane."

"Ah, that would be the lovely Lady Dr. Jane Foster, I presume? Thor mentions her quite a bit."

"Yes. She's ever the optimist," Selvig said, sighing in resignation. "I just pray nobody's gotten to her yet. With these bastards collecting physicists and engineers left and right, I'm hoping they won't dare to come near her."

The engineer shook his head. "They have a whole conference to pick from if it was just scientists they were after. I highly suspect they picked us for a reason."

"Tesseract," Kopersky mumbled. "We've worked with the Tesseract, or at least studied it enough to be somewhat of an expert."

"Speak for yourself. _You_ guys play with glowing blue space cubes. _I_ make high-tech prosthetics."

"Bullshit," Selvig grumbled. "You were a weapons inventor, Mr. Stark."

Tony shook his head. "Not anymore. I'm only partially sure why they brought me, frankly. Mr. Creepy seemed to be more interested in Agent Barton, and Stark Industries has a _very_ strict no-ransom policy."

"What about that thing?" Dr. Selvig pointed to the glowing circle shining through his Def Leppard t-shirt. "Isn't that the arc reactor that's been talked about so much?"

"True, but what would that have to do with the Tesser- _oh_," Tony asked, pausing as the light bulb clicked. "They need an energy source. Whatever they're doing, it's going to need a _shitload_ of energy. Either they want me to build one for them, or they want to take mine."

He sat down on the lone bunk that hung from the wall. "Neither is really a viable option, truth be told."

"Well, unless you have a better idea," Kopersky whined, "we're stuck helping them. I just don't know what they want with Barton, unless they want to recreate the control that the Tesseract gave Loki over him. You don't know what that man did to the carrier, Erik!"

"Trust me, Walt. I know perfectly well what that man is capable of," Selvig countered with contempt.

The other captives fell silent. Tony hated quiet. It meant you were either boring or plotting something, and both were unacceptable. There was a light buzzing sound as Kopersky finally got tired of talking and decided to take a nap.

He needed a distraction, and watching Kopersky snore wasn't that fun. Prying, however, was always a good source of entertainment. "So. What exactly _is_ it with you and Barton? You'd think that with you both having the whole 'Loki mind-slave club' thing going, you'd talk more about it. You know, talk being _therapeutic_ and all."

"_Therapeutic_," Selvig repeated with a sarcastic tone. "No, we don't talk. Not about work, not about the time with Loki, not about, well… _anything_. We're not exactly friends, Mr. Stark."

"You spent that much time on the Pegasus project together, and you never even talked?"

He watched as the physicist leaned back against the wall. "That was the problem- we _did_ talk. It didn't work out very well."

Tony propped his chin up with one hand while his elbows rested on his knees. "Enlighten me. I'm still learning to work with the guy, so by all means, do share, Dr. Selvig."

"I had one stipulation when I agreed to work with SHIELD," the older man explained, propping one leg over the other. "I wanted to be left alone, and for security to keep their distance. I didn't trust the agents, not after how they just swooped in and collected poor Jane's research during Thor's first visit. To my surprise, the agents complied, and I was given several research assistants to work with."

Stark nodded. It sounded like any other research setup.

The scientist shifted again on his own bunk. "There was one assistant in particular. He was an engineer, but a bit more down to earth and less stuffy than the others, and I like to think we became friends. We'd go out to the local pub, watch the television, that sort of thing."

"Doesn't sound so bad to me," Tony remarked, feeling that he knew where this was leading, if only from experience.

"He was very efficient, so I never thought to question why he was there. Fellow could calculate trajectory like you wouldn't believeit," Selvig said admiringly.

His face darkened soon after. "Anyway, we went to a pub one night, and I had a bit too much, I'll admit. A rather large fellow picked a very mismatched fight with me for some reason, and in jumps my assistant. By the time I picked myself up off the ground, he had the larger one on the floor and was systematically taking down anyone else if they came near me."

Selvig frowned as he turned to look at Tony. "It was just so… _brutal_. Efficient, but brutal."

"Most real fighting is rarely pretty, Doc."

"Very true," the physicist sighed. "When we returned to the base, I was _furious_. He was like a completely different man, and as it turns out, he _was_ a different man. That's when Director Fury explained that the assistant that I knew as Clint Barton was not my assistant but the head of my security detail, and introduced me to Hawkeye. My very own security chief and bodyguard, if you will. Needless to say, I was a bit angry that he had lied to me; that he had just… _snuck in_ like a common thief and hid among us."

"I think I know _exactly_ how you feel. Remind me to tell you about _my_ last assistant some time," Tony offered. "It sounds like we've got something in common: sneaky little SHIELD agents that like to infiltrate our lives in the interest of protecting us from ourselves. They're very good at that."

Selvig stared at his fellow prisoner. "You know, I wish I had seen it that way back then. Maybe I wouldn't have reacted so poorly. If he had only been up front with me, instead of sneaking in and pretending, we may not have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Are you sure you were ever on the right one in the first place?" the engineer suggested.

The physicist winced. "Well, there _may_ have been some phrases along the lines of calling him an ignorant, jack-booted thug involved. He didn't take that very well, I'm afraid."

Tony stared at him like he had grown a second head. "Wow. Just… wow. You actually _survived_ an insult like that?"

"Of course," Selvig replied. "I told him I just wanted him to stay out of our way after that. Told him we didn't need his assistance any more. He never said another word; just found this catwalk in the rafters of the research hangar and watched over things from there. It was a bit creepy, really- we used to call it his 'nest.' I don't believe we've spoken since, even after the Loki situation. I think the biggest problem I had was that it just seemed like such a _waste_."

"Waste?"

"Agent Barton is far from stupid- he's really very sharp. Fury took my request for security that wouldn't mess up my research lab and took it one step further. He gave me a security chief who actually understood quite a bit about what was going on. Not on my level, or even Walter's, but enough that I had no idea that he was anything but a physics or trajectory specialist," the physicist complained. "He was _good_ at the job. Such a waste of an education, I thought, to be using it for blowing things up when he could have been helping to build."

* * *

_SHIELD Barracks, New York City…_

Chavez awoke to his cellphone blaring in his ear. Fumbling for the small device, he answered it with a grunt. "Chavez here. This better be important."

"Chavez," Sitwell's voice spoke, his tone laced with concern. "Get your team ready. We've got an extraction mission, and we need to be in Germany asap."

"Extraction, sir? But who-" the team leader started groggily.

Sitwell's sharp voice interrupted with a simple instruction. "Headquarters, Alonzo. Wheels are up at oh- five hundred sharp."

Chavez groaned; picking up his gear and throwing on his tactical uniform, he reached into his closet for his emergency bag and rifle. He mentally cursed the apparent victims for waking him at four in the morning. Whoever it was that had gotten their asses kidnapped, they had better be important.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

"Wake up, Agent Barton," a sickly sweet voice crooned. "We have _so_ much work ahead of us today."

Clint slowly returned to consciousness, his eyes finally focusing on Tuller's face. He groaned. That was not the cheery face he wanted to see first thing in the morning. Was it morning?

"Go 'way," he muttered, his head hanging limply.

The scientist reached up and slapped him several times on the cheek, waking the archer further. "Now, now. None of that. I've got _big_ plans for you, Agent Barton."

Tuller nodded to a nearby goon, who touched the agent in the neck with a small, metallic rod. Clint jumped as electricity zapped his skin. "Gah! What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Now that I have your full attention," the scientist said with a smile, "we can get started. I trust you remember this little item?"

Clint inhaled sharply, his eyes widening as he watched the man hold up a familiar golden scepter, complete with a blue gem. Loki's scepter- the "blue stick of destiny," as Stark had called it jokingly. The engineer didn't know how close he was to the truth. "That _thing_ should have been sent back to Asgard."

Several guards moved closer, pointing their weapons at him. Tuller put the weapon back on its holder and moved to another workbench which held a control panel. The board held multiple cables that spread out amongst the machinery in the room. There was a low hum, indicating a large amount of power running through the equipment.

"Is that fear, I see?" The scientist moved closer, staring into Clint's eyes. "Yes, you're _afraid_ of it, aren't you Barton? Afraid of losing control; afraid of losing _yourself_."

Tuller pulled on a thick rubber glove and picked up the scepter again, turning a dial on the control panel. There were several more cables welded to the base of the gold scepter, which crackled with energy. The gem attached to the scepter's head began to glow with an eerie light.

The scientist stared into the SHIELD agent's eyes. "Don't be afraid, Barton. We're going to make everything better! No pain, no concerns, no _betrayals_. My master just wants his general back, so let's see if we can give him what he wants."

"_No,_" Clint whispered, his eyes drawn to the glow and falling into its icy, empty depths. He began to shake as the scepter's blade drew closer, trying to move the chair backwards and away from the infernal device. The chair refused to budge. There was a static, almost broken whispering in his ears, telling him to relax- that soon, the pain would be gone, and everything would be as it should.

The archer's will rose up against the oily tendrils that began to pull at his subconscious, though a traitorous portion of it begged him to give in. He began struggling as the energy tore through him at the scepter's touch, arcing all over his body and the chair.

Clint thought he heard screaming, only to realize that it was coming from _him._ The world flashed a familiar blue, but soon changed to violet as the world went dark.

* * *

"You know, for a bunch of smart guys, you're really dumb," Tony told Kopersky bluntly, not bothering with that little thing called Tact that Pepper often complained to him about.

The portly scientist stared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about! What does that have to do with the malfunctions?"

Tony just sighed in frustration, giving up on his attempt to pry at the panel that presumably held the lock mechanism. His belt buckle didn't appear to be working at the moment. Kopersky had woken up from his nap and decided to pick his brain about their little "gremlin" problem, particularly the weapons that were being constantly reported as faulty. Walter hadn't been able to do much research other than weapon checks and reliability tests lately.

Selvig pointedly ignored them; weapons weren't his expertise, and he didn't know either men well enough to jump into an argument about trigger mechanisms, manufacturing standards, and SHIELD reliability requirements. He had enough to deal with already.

Tony laughed. "You mean you _honestly_ don't recognize bureaucratic stalling tactics? I mean, come on man, you're supposed to be sharp."

Kopersky looked at him quizzically. "I don't get what you're saying."

"Lord, save me from the political newbie standing before me," the engineer complained, running a hand over his face in frustration. "Look at it this way: every time you wanna get _really_ busy working on that project of yours that you keep blubbering about, something comes up, right?"

The scientist nodded. "We've been getting constant requests for upgrades, repairs, and such. Weapon malfunctions, armor fitting issues, communication glitches with the headsets. It's becoming a nuisance."

"And I'll bet every time someone reports that something doesn't work, you boys get to go fix it." There was an affirming nod. "When you do go to fix it, either it's minor or there's nothing wrong." Kopersky nodded again. "And after you do these unnecessary repairs, you get to do lots of paperwork, right?"

"Yes, it's SHIELD policy," Kopersky agreed. "Weapons and armor have top priority over any other side projects. But I still don't get it."

"Wow, those guys are _good_," Tony replied with a low whistle. This sounded like Coulson's work, or possibly that Sitwell fellow. "No wonder it works so well on you. You have no concept of the words _red tape_, do you?"

Even Selvig couldn't help but chuckle. "_Incredible_ how sometimes one can be so smart, yet so simple."

There was a quiet snicker from one of the guards who stood watch at the end of the hallway, slightly out of view. Thankfully, they hadn't noticed Tony's attempts to break out of the cell or they were amused enough to ignore it. They quickly hushed themselves, both coming to attention when they heard the door begin to open. Both visibly relaxed as they recognized another guard.

The new guard walked up to them, nodding while he or she reached for a device. After speaking quietly to the pair, he let them lead as they approached the cell.

"Go, waterboarding. What's after that, nice massage via car battery clamped to the chesty bits?" Tony remarked sarcastically, giving a haphazard cheer. He had been wondering when their captor would be getting around to torturing his prisoners. "_Yay_."

To their surprise, the third guard pulled another device from a heavily-laden utility belt. The device looked suspiciously like a taser. Tony's eyes widened as the guard pulled the trigger.

Twin arcs of lightning shot from the device and hit the two guards, forcing them to drop their weapons and fall to the ground twitching.

"_Wow_, these guys are dumb. There's no way that the old 'Boss wants to see the prisoners thing' shoulda worked," the standing guard complained, shaking his head as he bent down to pull an electronic key tag from one of the unconscious men. "I'll have you guys outta here in a jiffy."

"Reagan? Thank God," Kopersky sighed, his voice flooding with relief. "I knew Fury wouldn't leave us here to rot! Don't just stand there, man!"

The man, now identified as Reagan, removed his mask as he pointed with his free hand for emphasis. He wore an angry frown. "One more word outta you, and I have free reign to taze your ass, Doc. Fury is _not_ happy with you right now, and neither is my team leader."

Turning back to the other scientists, he smiled warmly. "Now, gentlemen, let's get you out of here."

"Jane! Have you had word from Jane? Dr. Jane Foster," Selvig asked quickly. "We were supposed to meet in Zurich."

"She's fine, sir. Agent Romanoff's with the doc, and nobody's crazy enough to go after _her_. Well, I got this cousin… but that's neither here nor there," Reagan replied as he moved from cell to cell, inserting the keycard into the slot and unlocking them.

"So," Tony asked as he stepped out of the door. "What's the plan? Go out, guns blazing?"

Reagan shrugged. He put a finger up to his ear, listening carefully to his comm device. Nodding, the agent motioned for them to follow him. They were met by another man wearing a guard's uniform.

"I got it, Petey, I got it!" The agent held a familiar silver and red case, clutched to his chest proudly. "Here you go, Mr. Stark!"

"I don't like being handed things," Tony glanced down at the offered case with distaste. His eyes widened as he saw the ripped metal and multiple bullet holes decorating the sides. He looked up at the agent in surprise. "You broke my suitcase. How do you _break_ an Iron Man suitcase?"

The man removed his mask, revealing the agent that Thor had thrown over the side of the Helicarrier three months ago. He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking from side to side and back at Stark. "Uh… it just sorta _happened_ when they were shooting at me, I guess? I didn't do it, honest!"

Tony groaned, picking up the end of the security cable and cuffing it to one end of the suitcase, making a makeshift sling which he then threw over his shoulder. "No time to cry about it now. Time to go- we need to find Barton."

The lights flickered, followed by a rolling tremor as bits of dust fell from the ceiling. Tony looked at Reagan cautiously. "Was that your guys?"

The tech shrugged, hefting his rifle and leading the way into the hall.

* * *

Clint heard voices as he began to regain consciousness.

He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind, shaking his head back and forth quickly. Testing the restraints again, the archer smiled lightly and decided to try a play from Natasha's book. This crazy wannabe mad scientist seemed so intent on monologuing that he was giving away his entire master plan. The guy was a _horrible_ supervillain.

The guards skittered around the room, trying to follow their superior's orders as he frantically adjusted the control panel. The scepter had dimmed, with only a small pinprick of blue in the center of the gem. Taking a quick look, he fought off a wave of nausea that usually followed the liberal use of Ketamine. He had never reacted well to the rather potent sedative; the stuff was used on horses, for crying out loud.

Tuller turned back to him, glaring. "Look at what you did, Barton. I'm not sure how you did it, but I'm going to make sure the next time is more painful."

Clint wasn't sure how much he could take if the man tried again. The first run-in with the Tesseract had been fast and numb; there was no trace of the painful tremors that he felt now. _Ahh_, he thought, _the joys of being electrocuted. _

He glared at Tuller, who was approaching with yet another hypodermic. "Now, don't look at me that way. This is really for your own good. You're a _weapon_, Barton- one that must be controlled by the right person. One who can use someone like yourself to the full advantage."

The scientist closed in, drawing a small measure of liquid from a bottle. "Really, you should have expected something like this, you know, but you did make it hard to locate you. First, you stay in that ratty little firetrap of an apartment. We had to draw you out, and your landlord was so accommodating. I think he was as happy to see it go as I was."

"You sick… " Clint croaked, collecting his voice as he fumbled with his sleeve, searching for the wire he knew was hidden in the seam. "What kind of crazy _asshole_ torches an apartment complex with innocent civilians?"

Tuller actually cackled. "Oh, not me. Ivan took care of the fire. He used a local fellow to do the job. The plan was to take you on the street, until the police showed up and you vanished again."

"And the surveillance team- they work for you?"

"Hah. Those idiots should never have been put on such a detail," the scientist spat in disgust. "All it took was a little _whisper_ in their ears, Barton. A little whisper told them that you were a threat that had to be dealt with."

"If you're gonna try and fix this shitty little plan of yours, then you better do it quick, because you only got one shot and you just wasted it," the archer snarled.

Clint hadn't felt such hatred in a long time. He felt hot inside, like a pipe preparing to burst from too much pressure. The guards that flanked Tuller looked nervous. Three of the black-clad men near the back workbenches began to shudder, backing away with their rifles raised and aimed at him.

Tuller had started the whole cascade of changes that turned his life upside down. There were some good things to come out of it, though, and for that he was grateful. The bad things, however, he couldn't forgive. Things like siccing a psychopath on his favorite neighbor.

Old Sam Pritchard. Grills. Mrs. Thompson and Mitzi. Those two punks that always nagged him about trying to bust bottles with quarters. Simone and the Tiny Simones. His neighbors may have been mostly jerks, but they treated him like one of their own, and they hadn't deserved to lose everything due to one man's greed and another's overly dramatic plot to take over the world.

_Especially_ the friendly Simone and her Tiny Simones. He flashed back to Simone and her little brood smiling at him as she handed him a casserole. His wife, Laura, her head jerking back as the sniper's bullet hit her forehead. Little Annie, knocking on his door in tears. Callum, his eldest boy, collapsing in his arms while he screamed in outrage.

The memories he had buried deep within mixed with the more recent ones, of another woman and three children attacked. He had saved Simone and her kids, but he hadn't been able to save his own. Something inside snapped, and Clint saw red.

"You shouldn't have come near me armed, asshole." His eyes narrowed, and he looked up at the HYDRA gunmen and _smiled_.

Looping the wire around the control key in the guard's belt, he yanked it from the belt and into his hand. Next, he touched it to the lock control, releasing his arms and legs. Clint's hands darted out, pulling the two guards' pistols from their hip holsters and burying them in the men's stomachs. He pulled the trigger.

Tuller's eyes grew wide as he realized the bear that he had been poking with a stick had just released himself from his restraint chair. "Don't let him get a weapon!"

"Too late!" one of the men cried in panic. The others opened fire, forcing the SHIELD agent to dart behind a large equipment bank for cover. "He's loose!"

"I want him _alive_, you morons!" Tuller wasn't about to give up his plans for world domination.

Clint waited for the bullets to stop. "Reload time. Wonderful."

An unfortunate flunky chose that time to whip around the corner. He fired, emptying the clip in rage and dropping the man. Switching the second gun to his left hand, he dived under another table and fired at the next few gunmen until he was almost out of bullets.

Several more guards entered the room but paused as they noticed what was happening. Tuller made his way out the door and vanished. One brave HYDRA fighter stepped forward, extending a shock rod while two more stepped up behind him.

These weren't ordinary goons, Clint decided. It looked like Tuller had pulled out the big guns.

Two surviving gunmen tried to approach behind him, trying to follow their leader's orders to take him alive. He reached behind his back and fired the last two rounds, listening to the bodies drop as he watched the front of the room. Idiots.

Releasing the small lever on the pistol, he freed the slide. Standing up, he threw it at the front newcomer's throat, watching in satisfaction as the man wobbled backwards, gurgling. He rushed forward, tackling the man and driving him backwards into the wall with a cry. Reaching up, he took hold of the man's head and bashed it repeatedly against the observation window, shattering the glass.

Spinning around as the man fell, he ducked a stun baton and scooped up several large shards as three more approached. He made quick work of two using the improvised glass daggers, throwing the one that hadn't shattered yet into the third man's throat.

That left one more. He grinned ferally as the man approached, weapon at the ready. _These guys just don't know when to give up,_ Clint thought.

Circling each other, they each struck out at the other, testing each other's defenses. Clint managed to catch his enemy's arm, twisting it at the wrist and elbow. The man screeched, dropping the baton as he kicked out at the SHIELD agent.

Forced back by the blow, the archer braced himself for the next charge. His opponent ran forward, emboldened by the sight of one of his compatriots struggling to get to his feet.

Clint caught the man at the waist, and with a roar, lifted him up over his head and slammed the man down onto his back. He spun around, catching the now standing man by the throat.

He couldn't stop himself from punching the man over, and over again.

* * *

Chavez signaled for his team to proceed, ducking around a corner. Glancing at the reflection in the observation window at the intersection, he timed his next move. When one of the approaching guards turned to his friend and laughed at what was most likely a joke, the SHIELD agent made his move.

His M-4 raised, he spun around the corner and fired, hitting the two men with a short barrage. He moved forward at a brisk pace, Oyuki and one of the Twins following behind. By now, Reagan and Jed should have gotten to the scientists and were hopefully almost to the rendezvous point. All they needed to do now was get to the Boss.

The team leader stopped outside a server room, shooting the door lock. They may as well take the data too. "Jed, grab the drives for Reagan."

"Gotcha," the Twin replied, ducking into the room while the others moved on.

There was a pattering of approaching feet coming from the hallway. According to the analysts, it intersected with the hall leading to the main experiment chamber. He hoped they had gotten it right this time. The footsteps sounded disorderly; they sounded nothing like the missing Hawkeye's. Taking a chance, he signaled to Oyuki, who grinned.

The demolitions specialist braced his arm and thrust it out into the open air as the footsteps approached, and directly into the path of the suspect. The arm ended up at chest height; a perfect "clothesline" maneuver. A man dressed in a lab coat _whoofed _in surprise, flipped onto his back by the force of the impact.

"Always wanted to do that," Carl quipped, shaking the tingling out of his arm and moving to aim the gun at the downed scientist. "Well, well, well… look at who we have here, Mike One."

"Looks like a fuckin' _rat_," Chavez snarled. "How ya doin' Tuller? We just thought we'd stop in to say hello."

Stepping forward, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the man's head, knocking him unconscious. Oyuki knelt down with a set of zip-ties, securing Tuller's hands behind him. Chavez touched his earbud again. "Warbucks, we've secured Tuller. Moving on to the primary."

"_Very good,"_ Sitwell's voice replied. _"Satellites show movement up top; we're moving support teams in to intercept. You may have a red escape route. I repeat, red."_

"Gotcha, Warbucks. It looks like this place is set up for energy research; the Intel's a little out of date."

"_We'll notify HQ. The council orders still stand: recover what you can and bring it back to R and D."_

"_Mike One, we're approaching rendezvous point. Don't shoot,"_ Reagan's voice chirped over the comm. There were more footsteps as the second team approached. Ted returned from the server room at the same time, falling into step with his twin and tossing the satchel full of hard drives to the tech.

"Feels like Christmas!" Reagan quipped, tucking the satchel into his backpack.

There was a roar of rage from down the hall. Raising their weapons, the team shifted forward. Chavez signaled for the civilians to move back. "Twins, watch 'em."

They nodded in unison, each taking a position in the front and back of the cluster of scientists. The rest of the team approached the experiment room cautiously. Approximately five feet from the entrance, the team leader halted, listening to the thumping sounds of fists hitting flesh.

Another cry of fury came from the room, and a man dressed in HYDRA gear flew through the doorway and into the door across the hall, collapsing it. The man stirred for a moment, groaned, and fell still. Chavez's eyes widened as they took in the chaotic scene.

Stark approached at a jog, having recognized the voice. The team leader held out a hand, stopping the engineer. He shook his head quickly, silently urging the other man to stay back.

Chavez moved into the doorway, laying the rifle down on the ground and removing his mask before holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

Hawkeye stood amidst a mess of bodies, some unconscious, and some dead. One unfortunate grunt stirred and received a swift kick to the head from the heavily breathing assassin. He stared quietly at Chavez, as if he didn't recognize the man.

The former mercenary stepped forward slowly, stopping when the other man shifted his stance and leveled a pistol at him. Chavez held his position, knowing that even though Barton's hand was trembling, there was no way he would miss at this distance.

"Sir," he said quietly, keeping his tone even. "It's me. Alonzo."

"Alonzo?" Barton repeated quietly, shaking his head as if trying to clear something from his head. "_Chavez_."

"It's me, Boss," Alonzo repeated, taking a small step forward. "You remember me, right? The Tomb? We met in Afghanistan… you saved my life there, sir."

Hawkeye's hand stilled as he stared at Chavez, continuing to hold the gun at the Minion leader. His eyes blinked rapidly as he mumbled incoherently. "Afghanistan… _Afghan_… missing. Missing _squad_. Right… Chavez. Stark's shitty little box. _Chavez_- Sergeant Chavez?"

Tony glanced at Chavez, a questioning look in his eyes. Alonzo ignored him, taking another slow step forward. So far, Hawkeye hadn't fired his pistol, but he wasn't dropping it either. As the younger agent approached, he noticed signs that Barton had probably been drugged. _That_ wasn't good.

"Boss, you can give me the gun now. Please, just trust me?" Chavez was almost to the jumpy assassin, reaching a hand out tentatively.

"Trust… I'm supposed to trust _you_ now? What do you know- you can't know. Can't know when they tried to rip my fucking brains out? Fucking zombies… brain-stealing _assholes_…"

Tony Stark decided he was never going to violate Rule Number One. Ever. Pepper's little list of rules had presented him with a challenge when Barton and Romanoff had moved into the tower, but the sight of the slightly deranged man in front of him made Tony rethink every thought he had made about breaking them.

The engineer watched in amazement as the young SHIELD agent coaxed the gun from Barton's hand, speaking softly as if to a wounded, terrified animal. A wounded, terrified animal that knew multiple ways to maim them, if the amount of downed enemy agents was a reference.

Barton flinched when the younger man reached out to him, his eyes darting around the room anxiously as if searching for something, or _someone_. His movements were stiff and precise; he moved in a manner opposite of his usual relaxed self. Tony decided that he had watched enough, deciding to try another gamble.

"Barton," Tony spoke quietly, trying to mimic Chavez's tone. "Stand down, soldier. The mission's complete."

"Complete?" Barton repeated softly. "_Stark?_"

Tony rushed forward as his friend's eyes rolled up towards the back of his head as he collapsed, catching one shoulder as Chavez caught the other. They eased the agent down, breathing a sigh of relief. The young agent felt Barton's pulse, giving him a quick once-over.

While Chavez continued his check, Tony stood up and looked around the room. Power conduits, generators, integrity fields… there was so much he could play with here. He spied a familiar object hidden underneath the debris. The blue stick of destiny.

The rest of the team filed into the room, taking in the scene. There were several gasps, and even a muffled "Holy shit!"

Turning the scepter over in his hands, he looked down at the captured scientist, Edward Tuller. "Tesseract research, right?"

"What do you think you're doing, Stark? Put that down!" the deranged researcher cried pitifully. "My work… I have to finish it!"

"Oh, but I'm not dangerous at all, aren't I? Just little ol' me. You know, I wonder what _this_ thing does," Tony pondered out loud. The scepter glowed brightly in response to the Arc Reactor. He aimed it at one of the control banks, but nothing came out. "Aw, now _that's _no fun."

"Stay away from that!"

The engineer smiled, flipping several switches and moving a slider switch forward. The generators hummed in response, the sound growing into a high-pitched whine. "Oh, you mean this?"

He continued to make adjustments to the panel, moving to the equipment racks and making several changes to the settings. A computer terminal sat unattended in the corner. Perfect.

"Why are you doing this? We could learn so _much!_" Tuller cried, struggling against his bonds. "You're ruining everything?"

"Because," Tony replied, looking at Barton as he activated a command on the terminal. "I hate it when people take my stuff."

Chavez smiled; Stark was known for his possessive nature, especially when it came to his friends. The eccentric inventor wasn't easy to get along with, so when he found someone able to put up with him, he tended to hold them close, as if they would abandon him at a later time.

An alarm klaxon sounded, warning them that the power levels were reaching critical levels.

Stark had turned with scepter in hand in time to watch the mad scientist headbutt Reagan, knocking his head against the lab's wall. The tech staggered back, stunned and holding his nose. The prisoner charged towards Stark, screaming obscenities.

It was a little known fact that Stark had been a student of mixed martial arts for years, and was quite capable of taking care of himself. The Minions had studied the Avengers, so it was no surprise that the team stood back and grinned as the engineer laid out Tuller with a smooth throw and two-strike combination.

The scientist didn't get up this time.

Humming to himself quietly, Stark walked over to Oyuki, plucked another set of zip-ties from his belt. He then returned to his unconscious former captor, fastening the man's hands to each corner of the fallen workbench. "I think he'll be quite secure, waiting _right_ here."

"Waiting for what?" Reagan asked, his hand still held over his nose.

Stark shrugged. He nodded upwards, drawing their attention to the blue energy waves emanating from the machinery, collecting on the ceiling. The building began to shudder. "Waiting for the integrity failure that's about to cause a collapse of the main power grid. We've got about ten minutes before this place goes. Anyone got a watch?"

He walked back over to Chavez, spinning the scepter over to the agent. "I believe this belongs to you boys?"

Chavez looked at him incredulously. "You're giving it to us? Just like that?"

"Well," Stark replied with a smile. "I trust you'll do the right thing."

Chavez stood, holding the scepter and frowning at the barely luminescent gem. "Guys, get Hawkeye and the docs outta here. Evac now."

They didn't wait for further orders, trusting their team leader. Motioning to Selvig and Kopersky, they picked up Agent Barton and headed for the extraction point. Stark remained behind, watching the Minion leader intently.

Alonzo stared at the scepter, then looked back to Stark. He shrugged. "Damn _shame_, sir."

Stark arched an eyebrow as Chavez pulled an arm back and swung the golden device against the corner of a table, shattering the gem. A pulse of blue energy flared and died out. He held it out to the engineer, who tilted his head in curiosity.

"I'd hate to be the one that tells the Asgardians that their little stick got broken. That little gem seemed so _fragile_," Chavez told the engineer, smirking as he stepped on the remaining shards and crushing them with his boot. "Oops."

Stark smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder as they headed for the exit. "You know, I think I'm beginning to like you guys!"


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

The SHIELD teams made their way to the Quinjets after receiving word about the imminent implosion. Strike Team Mike regrouped, with Chavez and Stark entering the rear compartment last. Hawkeye and the scientists had already been secured, and the jet lifted off with a course set for the Helicarrier.

Selvig had borrowed a phone from Sitwell, and was smiling. Tony assumed he was checking in with his protégé, Dr. Foster. He spoke quietly, holding the phone away from his ear at times due to the young woman's frantic voice.

Tony slid down to sit next to the cot that held Barton, who was semi-conscious. Chavez had taken charge of doing another stabilization exam, holding a penlight and looking into the older man's eyes. Sitwell, who held onto a handle fastened to the overhead near the ramp door, began questioning him about the extraction details in order to prepare to debrief Fury.

"So," Tony began, scooting himself closer to his teammate after Chavez had moved to take a seat nearby. "Where _did_ you get your minions? I want some. Preferably, _your_ minions."

"Not mine," Barton slurred. "Can't have 'em. 'Sides, you got Happy."

"Happy is on vacation. Seriously, Barton. I want your minions."

"Can't have 'em," the agent repeated, groaning as the jet hit a small wave of turbulence. "Oh _shit_."

"Alright, I'll take half of them, you keep the rest. We'll split them. Fifty-fifty!"

"Take it up with Asgard, bastard. Now go away before I puke on you."

Like any sane person with an aversion to vomit, Tony took that moment to move away, letting the agent rest. He took a seat next to Chavez, setting his damaged suitcase behind his feet and buckling himself in. Looking at the medic, he decided to strike up another conversation.

"So," the engineer said cheerily after Sitwell had moved over to look at Reagan's cache of drives. "I believe his words were 'Stark's shitty little box' or something like that? I think there's a story there."

Chavez shrugged, packing his tools back into his bag. "I'd rather not, sir."

"If there's some feedback that could help improve my designs, I'm all for it," Tony challenged. He despised criticism when it came to his inventions; too much criticism led people to go to Justin Hammer, and _that_ was unacceptable.

"Leave it, Stark. I'll tell ya later," Barton mumbled. Chavez gave him a grateful look.

Tony decided to leave the matter alone for now, having been promised an explanation later. He looked over to Sitwell. "Where's Agent Coulson and Agent Romanoff? I would have thought they'd be all over this rescue."

"Agent Romanoff is currently watching over Dr. Foster. The doctor has been receiving death threats for the last two weeks, so Dr. Selvig asked Director Fury for a favor," Sitwell replied with a smile. "She was a little _upset_ at being left out and took it out on some muggers from what I hear."

"And Zurich is usually so _nice_ this time of year," Tony quipped, rolling his eyes.

The suited agent smiled. "As for Agent Coulson, he's taking care of the investigation on Tuller. We thought it was Dr. Kopersky, considering his rather unusual fascination for certain projects, but after the analysts did a little more digging, we found out about Tuller's connection to HYDRA. Director Fury has ordered a full inquiry."

"Well," the engineer shrugged, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat, "let me know if you need some help with that. I'm pretty good at digging around in your database, and these guys just put themselves on my shit list."

Reagan's voice piped up from where he sat, digging through the satchel of purloined equipment. "Geez, Alonzo. You just told them to get the drives, I bet?"

"Right," Chavez said, looking up from his seat. The tech was digging through the bag, pulling out several devices and tossing them on the deck. "What's wrong with the drives? It looks like he got all of 'em."

Reagan snorted, raising his eyebrow at his team leader. "_Really? _You couldn't have been more specific? You _know_ how those two are. They brought _all_ the drives."

The tech rummaged through the bag and held up a small, rectangular component. "_All_ the drives- including the damn optical and floppy drives. They don't even _hold_ data!"

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier…_

"I believe you owe me a story, daddie-o," Stark said, propping his feet up on a chair in a small armory workshop. He had stayed to keep his teammate company after being checked out by Medical, waiting for a lift home. The strike team was busy in a debriefing with Director Fury, and the other agents he was comfortable with were busy cleaning house after Tuller's infiltration.

Clint groaned, his face pale as he suffered through the next bout of nausea. He hated Ketamine. Dr. Osterhouse had cleared him without hesitation, stating he had a new intern again and didn't want the poor bugger scared away for another two months. His doctor also understood his need for peace and quiet after his little tantrum in Tuller's base. "Seriously, Stark? You're pushing this on me _now?_"

The price for his release from Medical had been a promise to stop by the Psych department within two days as well as an order that he wasn't to be left alone for the first 48 hours until the chemicals had cleared his system. Clint had always had a bad reaction to certain sedatives, and Ketamine usually left him either puking, loopy, or both. Tuller had to have known, and used the paralytic drug to try to ensure he was in no shape to get away.

"Do I look like I've got anything better to do with my time? Hand me that hex wrench, will you?" Stark held a hand out, nodding towards a small, star-headed tool. "Thanks. Since we're here for an undecided amount of time, I may as well get working on this. Jarvis, full diagnostic please."

"_Commencing scan, sir. Approximate wait time is seventy-three minutes."_

Clint shook his head with a smile. He had had worse company, he supposed; he and Stark got along well enough, though it had taken a while for everyone to realize that their witty and sometimes vicious insults to one another was just their way of bantering.

The first thing Stark had done when they had arrived was to demand his backup phone from the Iron Man compartment on the carrier. He had quickly updated the device and reconnected to his AI, who was understandably frantic. Stark then asked for a secure compartment to take a look at the damage done to his suitcase. The engineer didn't seem to trust the Iron Man compartment to not be bugged, for some reason. It was also possible that he just didn't want to deal with gawkers from the Helicarrier crew as the chamber had little by way of solid walls.

"C'mon, Jay- you can do better than that!" Stark scolded his AI. "You can cut out the paint integrity scan. I just need to know the equipment status, not whether or not it'll be presentable at the next Expo!"

"_Very well, sir. Approximate wait time for scan completion is now fifty-five minutes," _Jarvis's tinny voice replied.

"Now we have time," Stark said with a smile. "So, you called something of mine a shitty little box? It seemed to have some effect when I asked that Chavez fellow."

"Christ, you're stubborn," Clint complained, turning to his teammate. The man wasn't going to let up, though to be fair, he did sort of have a part in the story. He sighed, picking up a small screwdriver to begin aligning the compound bow laying in front of him. "Let's just say you and that kid both have more in common than you think."

"Does this have anything to do with Afghanistan? He mentioned that's where you two met, back when you were making a rather impressive display of berserk rage."

"About four, maybe five years ago I got a phone call from Fury. Some old war buddy of his had a squad of Force Recon Marines disappear in the hills of Afghanistan. Most of the military resources there were either dodging insurgents or out looking for you, so they didn't have a lot of time to spend on a search party," the agent explained, wincing as he pinched his finger in a cam. "The colonel didn't want to give up on finding them, much like your friend Colonel Rhodes."

He set the bow aside, reaching for a box full of standard arrowheads and a bundle of arrow shafts from a locker behind him. Stark was paying rapt attention to his actions, turning back to his damaged suit every so often and prying at the release to try to get to the control panel.

Clint began examining target tips and fletchings as he continued. "Your 'shitty little box' was some kind of scanner that the Intelligence was field testing. Do you remember anything about it?"

Tony sat back and tapped a screwdriver lightly against his bottom lip, deep in thought. "Backpack unit, about twenty pounds? Encrypted control panel?"

The archer's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. That's the one."

"Son of a bitch," Stark cursed, tossing the tool down on the workbench. "Tom Delaney. I think I know the incident you're talking about now. That idiot cost me several contacts overseas on multiple occasions. We finally found out he had been embezzling funds from the contract accounts; he's occupying a jail cell at the moment. _That_ scanner prototype wasn't even supposed to be out in the field."

"That might be a little comfort to Chavez. His squad protected that damn box of yours and got captured for it. They didn't give up the access codes, though."

Stark nodded, his head hanging down. "Fury sent you in after them? I see you were successful."

"Yeah," Clint confirmed with a nod. "You could say that. Half the squad was dead, the other half in a cave, and all because some Intel puke decided to do some moonlighting for the wrong people. Chavez got into it with your guy Delaney and some officer with connections. It didn't go so well for the kid."

"That's no reason to lose your temper," Stark commented stiffly. "Did you see what he did to Delaney? Not that I have much sympathy- the guy deserved it. Still, it was not a situation that ended well for anyone."

The archer leaned back, sighing. He turned to look at Tony again. "He got screwed and you _know_ it. Chavez had a good career ahead of him: recommendations for officer candidacy, halfway to a degree, had the respect of the men… all of that down the tubes because of a piece of _your_ equipment and a bureaucratic asshole. You might want to keep that in mind when you poke the proverbial stick at 'im."

"Point taken. So, let's change this rather awkward subject, shall we? What is this place, anyway? It looks like an armory, but it doesn't seem to have a lot of actual firearm material here," Tony commented, looking around the room again. "A typical armory also doesn't have a Level Five reinforced hazmat locker, either."

"That's because it's mine," Clint replied with a shrug. "I don't let R and D _touch_ my weapons. It's more of a workshop than an armory, though. I just don't use it a whole lot these days, ever since I moved into the Tower."

The workshop was more of a large closet, with a workbench, three equipment lockers, and the heavy steel hazmat locker. An oscilloscope sat on an upper shelf of the bench, along with a spectrometer, Marconi multimeter, and several other pieces of electronic test equipment. An RF soldering gun was attached to the tabletop, as well as a strong set of clamps.

Test cables hung neatly on the rack next to Stark, and a large tool organizer sat against the wall, full of various precision tools and very small electronic components. Each was neatly stacked, sorted and labeled. It was possibly one of the most organized and tidy shops he had been in besides Bruce's lab back at the tower.

Stark sniffed slightly. "It's very… neat, I'll give you that. I can hardly smell the WD-40. So, let me get this straight: you've got a perfectly good, if _small_ workshop to make your bits of pointy doom, and yet you don't use it. I'll be damned- you're constructing explosives on your coffee table, or something like it in your apartment now, _aren't_ you? And you're not even bothering to invite _me?_"

"Kitchen counter, actually," Clint mumbled, ignoring Stark's bewildered look. "It's not a big deal, Stark."

The engineer frowned, giving him a look of disbelief. "Not a big _deal_… You _do_ know that I gave Bruce his own lab, Natasha has a firing range and obstacle course, and Steve has a rather _impressive_ gym to play with. You haven't asked me for anything but a patio balcony large enough to hold a container garden, and here I find out that you need a fully loaded ballistics workshop that Uncle Tony would be thrilled to provide? Good lord, man- you should have just _said_ something!"

Clint shrank back in his seat slightly, refusing to look at Stark. "You've already given me a home and a safe place to stay, Stark. I couldn't ask for anything more from you."

"It's not about asking for more from me," Tony admonished quietly. "Barton… _Clint_, you're my teammate and I'd like to say my friend, provided you don't kill me in my sleep for it. It's about sharing what I have with the people most important to me, and making sure that you all have the tools you need to keep yourselves and me safe. You can't do the job right unless you have all the tools to work with, Legolas!"

The engineer reached for a test lead, setting up the Marconi meter and connecting the test lead to a port on the suit's control panel. "You and I are going to have a serious talk when we get home."

"You sound like my wife," Clint muttered softly, rolling his eyes.

Tony's ears perked up. "What was that?"

The archer just shook his head. "Hand me the torque five screwdriver, will you?"

Stark gaped, finally putting the pieces together after remembering what Selvig had said about Hawkeye during their imprisonment. He turned to face Clint again, his eyes wide. "You crazy little _sneak_. You're a damn _engineer_ on top of the whole killer agent thing, aren't you!"

"Sounds like you caught me," Clint admitted with a dramatic sigh.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You didn't ask."

Clint actually looked shy as his friend sputtered at him like a cat that had been dunked in the bathtub. He finally waited for Tony to make a coherent sentence. His teammate seemed to be more angry at himself for not figuring it out earlier. Stark finally calmed himself.

"So, self-trained, or do you have a degree?"

Clint sighed; it was too late to try to dodge it. "Physics Engineering with a Ballistics specialty."

Tony blinked. "This… is going to be _awesome_. I mean, Bruce is great to talk to since he understands things on my level, but you… you know the _fun_ stuff! "

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" the archer asked nervously.

"What, afraid it's going to ruin your image?"

"Yes. No- hell, I've got the tech department bugging me enough about the arrows I've designed over the years, and it's gotten worse since I made those new ones in the Tomb."

Stark nodded. "You did those? I've studied the notes from your research department. They looked much more advanced than your earlier designs. That USB arrow, by the way, _very_ nice work. A bit more specialized, but it's unique enough to go into my 'cool stuff' collection. Who gave you the design?"

"Nobody," Clint replied hesitantly. He glanced out the small window to check to see if anyone was peeking in. "Look- this doesn't leave here. Understand?"

Tony nodded again.

"The Tesseract… it taught me things. _Secrets_. It taught Selvig how to build that portal, but for me… it took what I knew, taught me more that I _didn't_ know, and made it just… I don't know. Make more sense? I mean, there were things I touched on back in college or from reading those 'For Dummies' books, but I wouldn't have used them or even remembered them until the Tesseract showed me how. The doc was right; it wasn't just knowledge- it's _truth._"

The inventor gave Hawkeye a sad look as the archer hung his head and continued. "It _knew_ that I needed the tools; that I was a killer, and a damn good one. Then, it made me _better_."

* * *

Fury watched the recording salvaged from the HYDRA database drives in the comfort of his office, not happy with what he had seen so far.

He watched as Barton bucked in the chair once Tuller pressed the tip of Loki's scepter to his chest. The video flickered shortly, but stabilized again. The process repeated multiple times for several hours as Tuller tried to re-apply the mental control over his agent.

Each time the scepter was applied, Barton's eyes seemed to blacken as they had before. A bright, marbled blue filled the irises for a second, but flared violet before the agent slipped into unconsciousness. It was unnatural, creepy, and altogether different than when Loki had used the scepter.

The one-eyed soldier wasn't sure whether the new eye colors were a sign that the experiment was working, failing, or if it was a sign that Barton had resisted. He hoped it was the last option.

"What do you want us to do with the information, sir?" Chavez's quiet voice asked. Fury had almost forgotten the young man was there.

Fury leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands. "Who have you shown it to?"

"Agent Sitwell, sir. He hasn't seen the entire thing, though. Just clips. Reagan too, since he's the one that decrypted the drives," the agent reported. "Other than that, nobody. We were advised it was for your eyes only.

"Good," the Director said with a nod. He wasn't sure if Hill was a wise choice to bring in on the newest chapter of the Tesseract drama. Maria Hill was a damn good agent, but there were times when her tendency to stick to the rules without question became a liability. The fact that she had gone behind his back and ratted out Barton to the Council was another factor. She hadn't done anything like that since, but the damage was already done; her lack of faith in Fury still stung. "Destroy it."

"Sir?"

"Do I need to repeat myself, agent? Destroy it. All of it," he repeated, ejecting the disk and handing it back to the team leader. "Keep an eye on Barton, and report any concerns directly to me. If their experiments have had any effect on him, we need to know right away."

Chavez nodded before speaking again. "What about the Council's orders?"

"Son," Fury replied, "do you honestly think I plan on putting _any_ sort of mind control technology in the hands of the people who tried to nuke Manhattan? Do you think I'm _stupid?_"

The younger agent shook his head, coming to attention. "No sir, I don't."

"Good. Now, what happened to the scepter? The video feed cuts off shortly before your team arrived."

"Horrible accident, sir. It sort of… shattered."

"Shattered," Fury repeated. "So what do you suppose we say to the Asgardians?"

Chavez looked his leader in the eyes, holding a stern expression. "It's like my Mama always told me: if you leave your toys laying around, they tend to get broken."

"I'll take that under advisement the next time Thor comes by for a visit," the Director said, a wry grin on his face. He paused, remembering something.

"One last thing, Chavez." Picking up the large box laden with odd bits of rope, netting, and random pieces of equipment, he shoved it at the Minion leader's chest. Fury gave him a warm smile, enjoying the look of confusion on Chavez's face. "I believe these belong to you?"


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's. Phil belongs to Bochco.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters…_

Steve knocked on the door to Director Fury's office, a stack of papers in hand.

"Enter," Fury's voice called, inviting the supersoldier in. He entered the office to find Fury perched on his office chair, his arms leaving the ventilation access panel on his wall.

The Director closed the access door, using a screwdriver to re-fasten the screws in place. He looked down at the Captain and stepped off the chair. "What can I do for you, Captain Rogers?"

Steve held out the file he had brought with him. Fury dusted his hands off, accepting the folder with a nod. "The incident reports you requested from the attack on Central Park."

"Thank you," Fury acknowledged with a smile. "I'll get these signed off and get copies to Coulson and Hill. I appreciate your promptness, Captain."

"Sure thing," Steve replied with a bright smile. "Oh, have you seen Thor around? We were supposed to meet at the gym."

"Do I _look_ like Thor's secretary?" Fury looked up at him, an indignant expression on his face.

The supersoldier stiffened. "No, Director."

"Dismissed."

Steve fled the office, heading for the next location on his list. The gym was on the basement level of the building, with multiple aerobic machines, a lap pool, and a small track among other pieces of equipment. His favorite area was Combat Corner, which held a sparring ring, weight racks and several punching bags.

There were several groups of agents scattered across the gym floor; two teams were running around the track in formation with their team leaders calling cadence, several agents were spread amongst the cycle and elliptical machines, and there was another team chit-chatting around the lap pool.

One small team stood away from the other teams, who regarded them with looks of wariness, amusement, and a few looks of fear. There were two identical men arguing over a weight, one spotting another who was lifting on one of the benches, and the last was giving the heavy bag a thorough workout.

Steve gave them an amused look as he headed for one of the punching bags, setting his duffel down on a bench and removing a roll of handwraps. Looking around the gym as he expertly wrapped the cloth around his hands, he sighed as he waited for Thor to arrive. The Asgardian had promised to spar with him once he had returned from a visit to Jane, and Steve was wondering if he had gotten delayed.

One of the identical men finally won the argument, yanking the weight out of the other's hands while the loser of the argument pouted and backed off, sitting down on the bench with his arms crossed. Shaking his head and smiling, he began hitting the bag with a steady rhythm. He kept his strikes light, in order to avoid breaking another bag if he happened to zone out too much.

"Want someone to hold the bag for you, sir?" a quiet voice broke through the _whump_-like sound of his fists hitting the canvas and leather.

Steve looked up to see the one who had been working his own heavy bag. The agent looked Hispanic, tall, with dark hair and a muscular, medium build. He had calm eyes that showed the same alertness that he had seen in many of the experienced field agents. Glancing to each of the five, he noticed they were watching him expectantly.

They read each other silently, the twins watching him as the bald one helped the Asian-looking agent set the heavy bar back on the weight rack before the lifter sat up. He wasn't sure whether to ignore them or become nervous. These were not standard field agents, based on the curious stares of the other agents as a quiet hush settled over the gym.

"Sure," he said, meeting the tall agent's eyes. "Steve Rogers. Captain, United States Army. Well, formerly."

The agent smiled in response, taking his hand in a firm grip. "Agent Alonzo Chavez. Sergeant, United States Marine Corps."

"Pleasure to meet you, Chavez. Ready?"

Chavez nodded. He gripped the heavy bag firmly, leaning in to brace it while Steve set to work again. The supersoldier focused on his routine, keeping his strikes light even though they still nudged the bag back with the force of his strength.

Behind Chavez, the rest of the team whispered to each other quietly. One of them, the Asian agent wearing the US Army t-shirt, made several quick gestures while the others nodded. The twins dissapeared into one of the storage rooms, pulling something out while the other two moved closer to the corner nearby.

"_Greetings_, Captain Rogers! I have arrived for our bout!" Thor's loud and cheerful voice reverberated throughout the floor.

Steve's attention was drawn instantly the moment the Asgardian called his name, and he forgot to hold back on the next punch. The strike hit the bag full force, bursting it and sending the agent holding it flying backwards.

"Shit, not _again!_" the balding agent cried out, running to where his friend had landed.

The captain cursed, running over to the prone Chavez. Stopping right before he reached the small team, his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw. Thor jogged up, a pained expression on his face.

Somehow, the team seemed to have predicted a potential bad reaction and planned accordingly. The two identical agents had retrieved a set of large sparring pads that he had seen being used to protect a partner from kicks, and had taken a position behind Chavez.

When the bag had burst, the force had tossed Chavez into his teammates who had absorbed most of the impact with their cushions. All three men were laying in a flailing mass of legs and arms. A pair of groans came from beneath the pads.

The other two were helping the Hispanic agent to sit up. Chavez looked at Steve with a bewildered expression while the Asian agent clapped him on the shoulder, laughing jovially.

He turned to his friends, who helped pick him up off the floor. "You know, I think meeting the Boss's friends is starting to be hazardous to my health?"

The one in the Army shirt laughed. "Just be glad you didn't meet Iron Man like that, dude. You'd be _toast_."

"Are you okay? I am _so_ sorry-" Steve started, remembering suddenly why Chavez's name seemed so familiar. It was _that_ Chavez. These were the agents that so many others spoke and whispered about behind closed doors and in the locker rooms: the Minion Squad, or Hawkeye's Merry Men. The surprisingly effective set of oddballs that formed Strike Team Mike. He hadn't been told that they had posted an actual Strike Team to HQ; they were usually scattered across the globe.

Rumors couldn't agree whether they worked for Sitwell or… uh oh. Barton was going to _kill_ him. His concerns were waved off by the recovering agent.

"I'm okay, sir. Don't worry about it- I've had worse," Chavez replied, steadying himself. Thor watched them with an amused expression. The agent grinned at Steve, drawing himself up straighter. "You can make it up to me by buying me a beer or something."

The supersoldier grinned back. "I'll have to take you up on that."

They all laughed, ignoring the incredulous looks from the other SHIELD agents, who soon went back to their own business. This was the Minions they were dealing with; crazy was business as usual for them.

Thor looked at Steve with a puzzled expression as the team headed for the locker room. "The hawk's liegemen are very strange, strange little men."

* * *

_3__rd__ Precinct, later that night… _

"You know," a wry voice drew Steve's attention. "This is really something I'd expect to wind up on the Second's doorstep. Captain America, picked up for a drunk and disorderly? What's this world comin' to."

The voice belonged to a stocky, brown-haired man wearing a dark brown suit and an amused expression on his face. He had his hands in his pockets, exposing a gold badge that hung from his belt, signifying that he was a detective.

Steve recognized Agent Sitwell watching them with a frown. He almost didn't recognize the third person with them, Agent Barton. In a suit. A rather official-looking suit, complete with jacket and tie. The agent was getting more than a few confused looks from the passing officers, though the Captain couldn't figure out why. The agent was doing a rather convincing impression of a stuffy fed, fixing them all with an appraising stare.

He looked to his left, breathing a sigh of relief; all three of the Minions were still there. They had invited him to go pub-hopping, and he had quickly agreed. The Twins had declined, citing they had plans for the night. Steve still wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, to be honest.

Oyuki was sporting a shiner from a rowdy drunk that had started the whole incident. Chavez was napping quietly, sitting back to back with Oyuki, and Reagan was pacing nervously, muttering softly . The supersoldier's enhanced hearing could barely make out the words "kill," "frying pan," "Aunt Beatrice," and "mother."

Steve found out the hard way about some of the Minion's Special Rules. First, don't start the fight. Second, if a fight does start, finish it. Third, there's no fight too big. Fourth, there are no gentlemen's agreements or rules in fighting- you fight to win. Lastly, if you mess with one of the Minions, you bring down the wrath of Alonzo Chavez.

The sad part of it was that none of the Minions had been that drunk, really. They were careful with their alcohol intake, making sure that at least one of them was sober enough to get the rest of them home. Due to SHIELD's close monitoring, the team made every effort to behave themselves.

The addition of Captain America had allowed all three to cut loose and let their guards down, as he had an insane tolerance for alcohol and had gladly volunteered to act as chaperone. They hadn't accounted for the drunk and his friends, though. After the first punch had sent Carl to the floor, Chavez had torn into the bunch with a fury that he had only seen reserved for enemy agents. After the third man went down, the rest of the bar had joined in, and the four SHIELD personnel had been caught up in the melee.

An officer walked up to the cell, speaking quietly with the detective and Sitwell. He received a nod from another nearby detective that appeared to be from the local precinct, and activated a control that opened the cell door. Chavez perked up, and they stood up to greet the senior agents.

"Oh, thank _God_," Reagan cried. There were several snickers from the uniformed officers. "Sir, they called my _mother_! She's on her way down to 'retrieve' me."

Sitwell pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly. "_That wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't participated in a bar brawl, which happened to be in a precinct that was familiar with your past indiscretions, Reagan._"

"But I'm reformed now," the tech argued quietly. "And we didn't start-"

"Please head towards the door, Reagan. Agent Barton will finish things up here." Sitwell's disappointed voice received three nods, and they quickly exited the cell while Barton continued to talk to the detectives. "Captain, Agent Barton will take you home when you're ready."

They scurried towards the entrance to the precinct after retrieving their belongings. Steve remained behind on the front steps to wait for Hawkeye while Sitwell escorted his team out to where he assumed a SHIELD vehicle waited. The scene strongly reminded him of a disappointed parent picking up their children from the principal's office after a playground scuffle.

Barton shook hands with one of the detectives who handed him a set of files, then approached the front steps with the one in the brown suit. Steve could see an embossed "74" printed on the badge. The detective gave him a grin, holding out a hand in greeting. "Detective Phil Roussakoff, Seventy-Fourth Precinct Homicide. Pleasure to meet you, Captain."

"The pleasure's mine. You're a bit out of your jurisdiction, aren't you, Detective? The seven-four's out of Brooklyn," Steve replied, smiling back at him.

The man shrugged. "Well, you know how it is. One guy owes the other guy a solid, next thing you know, there's a call at three in the mornin' saying you need to go get someone's guys outta the local lockup. One of the detectives here owed me a favor, so we used it to make sure you boys got taken care of. Clint here was pretty adamant that the paperwork needed to go away on this one."

Steve nodded. He could see why SHIELD would want to make sure that news of Captain America being caught by local police on a disturbance call didn't hit the papers. "I appreciate it. They're good men, and honestly, they didn't start that fight."

"Witness statements agreed with you, which is why Sandoval was willing to work with us," Barton said, glancing through the files handed to him. The papers didn't look like their arrest records. "In exchange for their assistance, we've agreed to look into a few of the Third's difficult cold cases to see if we can come up with anything useful."

"That sounds… beneficial," Steve replied, his eyes widening in surprise. It really did have merit; the NYPD got rid of the arrest documentation, and in exchange they got to utilize some of SHIELD's finer resources to close some old cases. It wasn't a bad plan, to be honest. "What about you, Detective? No disrespect intended, but how'd you get involved?"

The detective chuckled. "Me an' Clint go way back. You're boy Chavez called his boss- Agent Sitwell, was it? Sitwell called Barton, Barton called me, and I called Sandoval. Economy of favors, and all that."

Barton must have seen the confusion on his face. "Phil here explained to me that the NYPD runs on an economy of favors. One guy does something for another, this other guy does something to repay the original guy's favor, and now the second guy owes the third guy. They trade favors for favors, something like that."

"That sounds… confusing," the Captain replied skeptically. "But, it seems to have worked well, in this case, so… Detective, I guess this means I owe you one?"

Roussakoff laughed heartily. "I'll keep that in mind- I may need to have Captain America make an appearance at my kid's birthday party or something. Besides, Clint's picking up another set of cases from me later for _my_ precinct."

* * *

After saying goodbye to the detective, Barton led him to one of SHIELD's unmarked cars, unlocking the door with a keychain button. They entered the car, with Barton taking the driver's seat.

"So," Steve began, "that detective seemed friendly."

"Yeah, Phil's great. One of the best," Barton replied with a light smile. "Damn good to talk to when you're troubled."

The supersoldier nodded, clutching the bag holding his wallet, shoelaces, and other assorted pocket items. "He said you twogo way back?"

"Yup," was the agent's only reply. Barton didn't elaborate as he pulled out onto the street, heading for the tower. They would have to drive halfway across Manhattan to get home.

"Uh, I'm really sorry about all this," Steve added apologetically. "I didn't mean for this to happen, honestly. We were just having a good time, and all of a sudden, _bam_. The fight came out of nowhere."

His teammate shrugged, cursing as he was cut off by a cab driver. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't. One thing you'll learn if you hang with that bunch long enough is that Chavez has some sort of black cat thing going on. He always seems to wind up in the middle of something whether he wants to or not."

"That sounds… really unfortunate."

Barton snorted. "Cap, you have _no_ idea."

"They're an interesting team," Steve offered. "To be honest, I was kind of surprised they invited me out. Everyone else seems to be afraid to treat me like a normal guy- like they'll damage me or something. Chavez and his team, at the gym… they treated me like I was one of the guys, you know? He offered to _hold the bag_ when I was working out. _Nobody_ offers to hold the bag when I'm at the SHIELD gym. Nobody."

"Welcome to my world," Hawkeye muttered.

Steve continued his rant, glad to get rid of some frustration. "I mean, everyone thinks that I'm some bumbling mook that doesn't know anything, and it kinda feels like they're humoring me when I try to ask them about things. Like they think it's _cute_. I'm trying to get used to things here, but the courses are so complicated, and I'm not exactly a scholar, y'know? And going out tonight was _fun_. Your boys have been one of the few that actually treated me like someone other than a relic from the forties. It was… nice."

He left out the part where he had been reminded of the Howling Commandoes. Few people were interested in the fact that the Commandoes were started in a British pub, not their forward base like some of the stories said. Captain America was a cultural icon, but that didn't mean that he wasn't also a human being that liked to have a good time too.

Barton merely sighed, turning the wheel sharply. Steve noticed that they were no longer heading towards the tower. He hoped he hadn't angered the man by his complaining. Shortly, they pulled into a spot in front of what appeared to be a bookstore.

"They're open at this time of night?" he asked. It had to be around four in the morning.

Hawkeye shrugged, leading him into the large store. "You know how it is here. City that never sleeps, and all."

The agent led him to a section in the back that displayed a large "Non-Fiction" sign. There were rows and rows of books; he hadn't spent much time in bookstores since he had woken up, but _this_ place… this place was _heaven_.

They stopped in front of a large section of books, all decorated with bright yellow and black covers. Steve examined the spine of one. Holding it up, he raised an eyebrow at Barton, who was checking covers and pulling out the occasional book. "Really? 'For Dummies?' Are you trying to make fun of me or something? Because it's not that entertaining to _me_."

"Oh, just shut up and hold your arms out. I'm not making fun of you. Look, I know we don't talk much since we're both busy, but I don't mind if you just _ask_. Stark already read me the riot act on that. Besides, these books are _awesome_."

Steve looked at Barton skeptically until he looked down at the covers. _U.S. History For Dummies. World History For Dummies. U.S. Military History For Dummies_. The archer continued to poke at the bookshelf, selecting titles and either putting them back or adding them to the growing stack in Steve's arms.

"Do you know how hard it is to go to college with a GED?" Barton asked suddenly, glancing at Steve quickly. Steve mentally added the term to his list to Google later. "Well, for me it was hard. I hear lots of kids get by with one, but some of us have it harder than others. It's harder to apply since you don't have chances for some of the required tests, and the instructors, at least the ones that _I_ had, tend to think you're an idiot."

He moved to another shelf and seemed to debate over whether or not to add a select another book. "These books are designed to help you get into the subject when you have no background whatsoever. They saved my ass in college; they break things down for you and explain it in ways that make a hell of a lot more sense than the textbooks do."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise. The dour archer hadn't been trying to poke fun… he was trying to _help_. "Why do they call them 'For Dummies' then?"

Barton gave him a wide grin and set _Computers For Seniors For Dummies, 3__rd__ Edition_ on top of the pile. "Because 'Handbook For Explaining Shit To Those That Don't Know Anything About Blah Blah Blah' rolls off the tongue _so_ much better."


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters…_

Operation Get Rid of the Pirate King was becoming frustrating. The King was _good_. He had spotted every one of the Twins' traps, slipping away like the scurvy dog that he was. At least he had the decency to give their supplies to Alonzo, who had handed them the box with a warning not to push things too far.

Ted had volunteered to lay the next trap. Making his way through the next junction in the air vents, he paused when he noticed something unexpected.

Ahead was a small blinking red light ahead, mounted on a small tube. It rotated, seeking out something. Ted tilted his head, squinting to get a better look. _The light swung his way, the red dot training on his chest_. There was a skittering sound ahead, followed by a mechanical whirring.

Crawling through the vent in front of him was a small robot. It only had one sensor that he saw, along with eight legs and a small device on the front of the machine that looked like a small shock probe.

"One eye… it's a _minion_. Minion of the Pirate King," he mumbled, scooting backwards as the small critter began approaching him, picking up speed. He caught a closer glimpse of the front "legs"- they were small, grasping appendages that looked similar to crab pincers.  
_  
__"Avast ye, matey! I do bespy a scurvy wretch in me ventilation system. Ye got twenty seconds to evacuate the premises!"_ a tinny voice warned, coming from the Pirate King's new minion.

_"Ted, what's going on? What's happening, brother?"__  
_  
"The Pirate King has minions! _Minions_, Jed… eight little peg legs and everything!" He edged his way back towards the vent access he had entered through, the little robot hot on his heels. Ted yelped as a small arc of electricity zapped his leg. Scrambling, he increased his speed again.

"_Junction Three, brother. We'll cut him off,"_ Jed's voice ordered. _"Two minutes from junction."_

"Copy that, but hurry!"

Ted looked back as he crawled. He watched in horror as it skittered around the corner, its sensor targeting him again. _"There ye be, matey! Time ter walk the plank!"_

Luckily for the Twin, he was faster than the small robot. Turning another corner, he momentarily forgot about his slightly deranged little pursuer until he received a shock to his rear end. Kicking at it rapidly, the spider-like machine slid back, then skittered forward with renewed vigor and shocked him for his trouble. "Sonovabitch!"

"I'm almost there, brother!" Jed's voice echoed in the vent system, and Ted breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of his twin's face peeking around the corner. The other Twin took one look at the approaching machine and returned the way he came from. "Oh, my sweet Jesus. _Hell_ no."

"Up, brother, up!" Ted cried, finding the intake that led to Level Three. The pair rock-chimneyed their way upwards, hoping they had lost their pursuer. Scrabbling up, one twin braced his back and legs between the ventilation duct and reached for the other, pulling him up and onto the horizontal chute.

"_Don't ye be thinking ye've lost me yet, ya bilge rats!"_ the machine cried, crawling up the large vertical duct. The probe sparked in warning as the sensor swept back and forth. _"I can hear ye tremblin'!"_

Jed looked his twin in the eye. "It _climbs!_ We're doomed!"

The robot climbed up onto the level, waving its pincers menacingly._ "Yarr!"_

* * *

"Tell me why I volunteered to go through phone records and accounting information for the NYPD again?" Reagan whined, tapping at his keyboard in frustration. "I mean, this stuff is months old!"

Chavez didn't look up from his Statistics textbook. "That would be because Sitwell said he'd tell Fury about the other night with Captain Rogers if you didn't, or worse- your mother."

The tech shuddered at the idea. "So why do I have to do all the work?"

"Because I've got a paper due in two days and besides, weren't you the one who claimed it would be a too easy for a 'hacker extraordinaire' such as yourself?"

Reagan sighed. "Yeah… me and my big mouth."

The lights in the building cut out, lighting up again after ten seconds. Both agents looked up in concern. The electrical wiring in the building was state of the art; the constant maintenance should have ensured there were no hiccups in power or blackouts of any kind.

Chavez put his textbook and notepad down and reached for his cellphone. They had seen this sort of outage before, usually while they were infiltrating a building. He dialed the number for Sitwell, but received nothing except a busy signal and lots of static.

Frowning, he looked at Oyuki. "Can you reach the Twins?"

The other man shook his head, looking up from his own phone. This was possibly the worst time for the team to be split up; the Avengers were out of state, Hill was here for an inspection, and the Ops agents were already spread thin dealing with smaller criminals and wannabe villains trying to cause trouble around the New York area.

Strike Team Mike had been ordered to work on Sitwell's little homework assignment at Headquarters while they wrapped up the Tuller investigation. Most of the senior agents were on various assignments, leaving the team as the primary response team in the event something happened that didn't require superheroes to confront. So far, all had been quiet, and they had spent their time in the library working on their various assignments.

They geared up, not willing to take a chance if someone was trying to infiltrate the building on their watch. A quick glance around the room showed other agents following their lead, checking their weapons and making their own calls.

"Reagan," Chavez ordered quietly, "see if you can check the network. Try to find any signs of video loops or taps on the security feeds."

"On it," the tech replied, concentrating on the screen in front of him. "Uh oh. Looks like someone's tapped in, alright. I'm overriding the connection. We should be able to see them right… about… _now_."

He tapped the last key with a flourish, grinning as alarms sounded. Giving a thumbs up to his team leader, he waited for the next order.

Chavez nodded, picking up his rifle as he looked over at the screen. There were a group of men clustered in a supply room, dragging an unconscious agent with them. They looked up as the alarm sounded, shouldering their weapons. "We need a headcount, Reagan. Is that the only team?"

A quick scan had him shaking his head. "There are at least four that I can count. One on the basement level, two at the main entry, and this one here on the supply dock. Heavily armed, looks like about four to eight per team."

"Get that information to the friendly teams," Chavez ordered. "We gotta head this off before it gets outta hand."

"Shit, they're gassing the security stations. These guys are good- there are twelve agents down," Reagan reported. "Make that sixteen. They just hit the lower armory!"

"Damn it," Chavez cursed. He signaled for everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone, we need to form up! We've got hostiles in the building."

The other agents gathered, checking their weapons as they moved to secure the room. One suited agent joined Reagan to monitor the laptop. Another moved to secure the door. The rest approached nervously, waiting for instructions. There were quite a few fresh faces, wearing tidy suits and uniforms that had a suspicious lack of wear and tear.

The team leader frowned.

Junior agents, analysts, and two scientists. _Perfect_.

Chavez sighed in annoyance. "Once Reagan pinponts the hostiles, we'll move. Hey, Kowalski- secure those vents. They're using gas, so they may already have control of the vent system. Pete, you got the Twins yet?"

"Nope."

He cursed again. There was a buzzing in his pocket, notifying him that he had a text. At least not _all_ communications were cut off. Pulling it out, he read the message. _Bad guys on lvl 3. Green/black, big guns. Phones down. Twins in vents. Orders?-T_

At least the Twins were okay. One of them was, anyway. Chavez thought for a minute, then typed out a quick message. They needed to get moving, and if the Twins could secure the ventilation system, that was one less thing he had to worry about.

* * *

The last of the current group of invading soldiers fell when the bullet hit him.

Maria Hill lowered her gun, sighing in relief. That was the last of them. She looked at her security team, or what was left of it. "Report."

"We're still good, ma'am. No wounds."

Digging out an earpiece, she signaled to the others to prepare for another fight. They had been ambushed by a turncoat; some new enemy faction had taken it upon themselves to risk an infiltration into Headquarters, hoping to gain access to the database as well as acquire prisoners. The Deputy Director would have been a fine feather in their cap.

She frowned on kidnapping attempts. Activating a radio, she began flipping through channels, searching for any other people that may have escaped the building. With a sigh of relief, she finally found a voice on the tertiary emergency channel.

"This is Deputy Director Hill. All units, report in." If they were in luck, they would have enough people to handle the situation without having to alert local police. That would be a nightmare of paperwork, and there was no way she was going to give up the building without a fight. It was bad enough they had slipped in on her watch.

_"Security checkpoint three- we're green."__"Security checkpoint seven- we're green. Six hostiles down."__"Armory Two is green."__"Research Four is yellow. Hostiles haven't seen us yet, but they're approaching."__"Strike Team Mike, half the team secure in the library. We've got two securing ventilation. Ma'am, we've got a bunch of juniors and non-combatants here. Three are probies."_

Perfect. They had hostiles in the building and the only strike team in the vicinity was the Weirdoes, who were currently holed up in the library with a bunch of non-combatants and trainees. Her day was getting worse. Although they were _effective_ Weirdoes, Hill didn't trust them. They had helped to blow up the carrier, helped keep the Tesseract a secret, and had been a royal pain in SHIELD's ass.

Hill didn't have any choice but to rely on them this time. They were the only ones left that weren't currently with her, incapacitated, pinned down or trembling in their boots. "Mike One, do you have any information on the intruders?"

_"Mike Three is monitoring the security feeds. He kicked them out of the network and set up a video loop on their side. We've got 'em blind, ma'am. Mike Four and Five are securing the vents and moving into position for a takedown. Plan is to bring them down one at a time,"_ Chavez's collected voice replied.

"Copy, Mike One. If you have any contact with the outside, try to get a hold of Hawkeye or Black Widow. You have their numbers, I presume?"

_"Yes, ma'am. We sent a text after we got the security feed under control. No response yet, so they're probably in the middle of their mission. I've also tried to contact the other emergency lines, but the cellphones and landlines are being jammed. It's just us for now."__  
_  
"Good work," she replied in surprise. Either they were lying, or they were more competent than she had thought. "My team will move to secure the servers and research labs."

_"Roger that, ma'am."_

Signaling to her team, they moved into the hallway.

* * *

Chavez set the three probationary agents to guard the two scientists that had been in the library, taking the rest with him as they moved into the hallway. The grand entrance lobby to the building was now empty except for one commando.

The commando went down with minimal effort, and one of the junior agents scooped up the man's radio set. Another agent secured him with zip ties and dragged him behind the front desk.

"Mike Four, what's your status?" Chavez asked, checking in with the Twins.

A hushed voice soon responded. _"Vents secure. Five scurvies on this floor. Uh, Floor three."_

"Roger that. Move to Armory Two and join up with Peterson. Take 'em down."

_"Copy that, Boss!"_ the voice replied cheerfully. _"Ouch- go away, ya little bastard!"_

Chavez blinked. "Everything okay, Mike Four?"

_"Peachy. The Pirate King recruited a robot minion. I think it stole Petey's taser," _the Twin's voice muttered unhappily. _"He's cheating!"_

The team leader rolled his eyes, unsure if he wanted to know any more. The idea that the little war between Fury and the Twins had escalated to the point that the Director was bringing in robots… wait. Robot minion armed with a taser? This had Stark's fingerprints all over it.

Maybe they could use that. "Bring it to the Lobby. Double-time, pal."

_"You want me to __what?__"_

"Bring. It. To. The. Lobby," he repeated crossly. "Asap, Mike Four."

_"Uh... yowch! Copy that."_ There was a slight crackling as the Twin's voice cursed, followed by a scuffling sound.

Ten minutes later, a pounding noise came from the ventilation duct next to Chavez. One of the Twins poked his head out, shouted a warning before disappearing into the vent again. "The devil's a comin' and it's got eight legs!"

Reagan waited, then darted in after a small, skittering object, leaving his body hanging halfway out. There was a series of creative curses as the tech captured the bot. He extracted himself from the vent, breathing heavily. Proudly held in his arms was a squirming, eight-legged robot.

"_Unhand me, ye landlubber!"_

"You gotta be shitting me," Chavez muttered as the bot tried to zap Reagan with what looked like a miniature cattle prod while cursing at him with an accent that he had last heard in a "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie. Once he got a closer look, it was actually more reminiscent of a grumpy crab, with the front legs turning out to be a set of plier-like pincers.

Reagan looked up at his team leader, excitement shining in his eyes. "Hey, Chavez? Can we keep it? I wanna name it Fred or something."

"You can ask Fury about it later. Check that thing for a transmitter, will you?"

The tech complied, locating a switch to power down the robot. There was a slight whirring noise as the legs fell still. He opened a hatch, revealing the Stark Industries logo with a printed label: _SCURVE-E_. "Hey, Chavez. What exactly are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that if that's a Stark robot, he's gonna want to keep an eye on it. That means transmitting information back to his mainframe. If we can trip the circuitry or something, it may send some kind of signal back to Stark."

"Hm, you may be right," the tech replied, pressing several tiny switches in what looked like a control panel. He powered the bot on, watching as the legs twitched slightly and a red light began to blink. "Well, here goes nothing."

Less than a minute later, a different voice spoke from the robot's speaker unit. "May I speak to the gentleman or lady in charge of the one who is tampering with this drone, please?"

The Minion leader gulped. "This is Agent Chavez. To whom am I speaking?"

The polished voice responded, speaking with a slight British accent. _"Greetings, Agent Chavez. This is Jarvis, calling from Stark Tower in response to a distress beacon from one of our prototype security drones assigned to SHIELD headquarters, sir. I am inquiring as to whether or not you are in need of assistance?"_

Chavez had heard about Jarvis- Tony Stark's computerized butler. He breathed a sigh of relief- this had worked better than he thought.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Somewhere in Montana…_

_"Sir, I've received a distress call from SCURVE-E," _Jarvis's clipped voice announced.

"Do tell. Care to elaborate, Jarvis? Don't tell me someone's invading SHIELD Headquarters or something," Tony replied, rolling his eyes. He had just finished the little bot last week; there was no reason for it to be malfunctioning already.

Jarvis was silent for several minutes, coming back on the line while Tony was busy dodging a few guerrilla missiles. _"Actually, sir, there _does_ appear to be a security breach at SHIELD Headquarters. I have an Agent Chavez on the line. Would you like me to patch him through?"__  
_  
"Sure, why not? We're wrapping things up here."

_"Very well, sir." _There was a recognizable click.

"Yo, my man- I hear you got a problem?" Tony fired several micro-missiles, destroying the last few rockets that were aimed at his direction before turning his repulsor lasers on the men controlling them. He dodged as Steve's shield ricocheted off a vehicle, taking out the final launcher.

_"Yes sir. Sorry to bother you on a mission, but we've got problems back here. Our guys have the infiltration under control- two teams are down, and we're moving in on a third. They've got Deputy Director Hill pinned down though. We're hoping you know of a remote way to get the servers secured since they sent most of IT to a conference. We have a tech here, but the server room's three floors up and we may not have that kind of time."__  
_  
Tony grinned. He still liked the way this kid thought. "And why would you suppose _I_ know something like that? I'm only a consultant."

_"Sir, please give us a little more credit?"_

"Fine, fine," he acquiesced, sending a volley of repulsor fire towards the stolen stockpile of Stark Industries crates. He hated it when his weapons vanished and reappeared in the hands of the bad guys; at least he had friends to help blow them up these days. Repo work had been getting so lonely.

The engineer braced himself for the armored vehicle that tried to run him over, catching the grille in both hands and halting it. The back end flipped upwards, giving him a full view of the startled driver's face. He waved as the back end dropped back to the ground, the suspension damaged beyond repair.

"Jarvis, use Back Door Two. Secure the server with maximum encryption, please. I'll let Chavez decide the code- I'll be a bit busy here," he advised, ducking behind another vehicle to avoid a volley of bullets from a large caliber rifle. The team had been hunting the terrorist group for a week, finally locating their base in the mountains of Montana.

The base was nestled in an old ruin, surrounded by a deep ravine. Camping near the top of the ledge, the soldiers had thought they had the high ground until they had encountered Iron Man. Hawkeye and the Black Widow had run reconnaissance while he and Captain America had run backup. While Natasha snuck into their base to locate the leader and gather information, the remaining three had run interference with the soldiers outside, creating a rather explosive distraction.  
_  
__"Encryption processing now, sir. Agent Chavez, please key in your encryption code and the process will be completed within four minutes,"_ Jarvis said, having anticipated the request.

_"That's it?"_ Chavez's surprised voice replied. _"Uh… thanks?"_

"Don't thank me yet, Agent. Fury's gonna owe me big before I give him access to his database back," Tony quipped. "I might even make him sing the little teapot song. Dodging missiles now. Have fun!"

Cutting communication, he concentrated on the next wave of terrorists aiming at him. One of the men was making adjustments to a strangely familiar rocket- one of the prototypes that he had thought was lost after clearing house at Stark Industries. They were still finding evidence of Obadiah Stane's underhanded deals, years later.

Running through a mental catalogue, he focused on identifying it. "Jarvis? That shiny one on the right- can you identify it? I don't like the way that guy's smiling at me."

"_I have identified the rocket as an EMP discharge warhead, sir. The model E-Seventy Five EMP rocket, to be precise; it was the first working model in a line designed to disable heavy machinery and aircraft. You may wish to evade this one, sir- I calculate it could be detrimental to the Iron Man suit without the heavier shielding module that you incorporated into the Mark Five for Colonel Rhodes."_

Tony's eyes grew wide as the weapon was launched, setting off his proximity alarms. "Uh-oh…"

Kicking in his repulsors, he watched in concern as it traveled under him, proceeding to follow as he weaved in and out of the tree line. Tony's IFF sensors continued to scream that the warhead was continuing its course.

The engineer activated his countermeasures, wincing when he heard a click, followed by a warning they were depleted.

"_Uh, Iron Man, you may wanna duck,"_ Hawkeye's wry voice cut in over the comms. _"Like,_ now._"_

Tony dived, hissing inwardly as a black arrow sailed over his head and straight into the missile. There was a large shockwave as the arrowhead exploded, hurtling the missile off course. "Nice one- was that the Tankbuster? Oh, crap!"

The suit's counter-measure system began screaming at him again as several micro-missiles were launched from the falling warhead. The small projectiles fired their jets, taking flight and swerving back in his direction. _"Sir, the weapon has launched retaliatory counter-measures."_

"_That was _not_ my fault,"_ Hawkeye cried. _"You didn't _tell_ me those things had countermeasures! Hit the deck, man- hit the deck!"_

"They weren't _supposed_ to have countermeasures- that design never made it past the prototype! Uh, you guys may wanna-"

The world spun as the missiles impacted. Arcs of electricity scattered over the metallic suit, stinging the engineer. His heads-up display began wavering in and out, red alerts blinking in front of him ominously. Jarvis's voice cut in and out, the normally calm tones filled with static.

The Iron Man suit skidded across the ground, heading on a haphazard course towards the ravine that edged the camp. Tony could faintly hear the cries of his concerned teammates as the repulsors misfired erratically, sending him twisting, skipping, and flipping end over end towards the edge of the cliff.

* * *

Hawkeye had kept an ever watchful eye on his team, providing support as usual while calling out potential threats. None of the team had predicted the experimental EMP missile; it was almost as if the weapon had been designed with Stark's suit in mind. He watched in horror as the suit careened towards the chasm nearby.

Stark's suit was hardy, but there was no way the engineer could come out unscathed from a fall of that height- it would most likely be deadly. Clint cried a warning to the Captain, running after the suit as it skidded by. He could hear Tony's nervous voice on the comm. _"Uh, a little help would be nice? Ah… oof. Gah- _that's_ gonna leave a mark… Oh shit!"_

"Cap, I'm gonna need a hand here!" Clint dialed a control on his bow riser, selecting his new armor piercing grapnel arrow. With a practiced motion, he clipped the cable to his harness as his quiver rotated, and ran towards a large outcropping. Pulling back on the bowstring, he fired. "Stark, turn off your damn thrusters!"

The arrow flew true, catching up with the suit. The arrowhead bit into the ankle of the suit, digging into the metal with a _thunk_. The extra cable rapidly unraveled while the archer reached the outcropping. He braced himself, only to be pulled by a hard yank as the cable snapped taut once the suit had careened over the cliff's edge.

"Shit!" Clint cursed as he was unceremoniously dragged towards the edge. His arms stung as the grit and small rocks scraped the exposed skin of his arms. Heading straight for his head was a large, jagged rock. This was going to hurt. "_Cap-_"

A strong pair of arms grabbed hold of Clint's harness, taking a tight grip on the cable. Blue-clad legs spun forward, slowing the momentum. Captain Roger's boots skidded until they were stopped by the rock, and the supersoldier halted their slide with a grimace. "I've got you!"

The pair panted for breath, stunned that they had managed to halt not only themselves, but the mass that was the Iron Man suit. Hawkeye blinked, sitting up weakly. Steve's face grew focused as he began to slowly reel Stark in.

"Uh, you still with us Stark?" Clint managed to croak out, sneezing to clear the dust from his nose. A small trickle of blood seeped from a large cut on his forehead.

Tony's voice was music to their ears. _"Oh, yeah. I'm just, you know, hanging around."_

* * *

_"Servers are secured electronically, ma'am. If they get anything, it's got a new layer of encryption," _Chavez reported as Hill approached the server room.

She breathed heavily, ducking from another volley of bullets. How they had pulled it off, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Good work. What's the status on the rest of the intruders?"

_"One more team to go, ma'am, not counting the three left on the server level. We're approaching now."_

The comm quieted except for the sound of rifles firing, followed by several grunts and a cry of surrender. There were shouts of "Don't move!" as the prisoner was taken into custody. At least they would have someone to question.

Motioning to her escorts, they waited for the next pause that would indicate the gunmen were reloading. The pause finally came, and her agents rose up from behind the countertop they were using for cover, firing quickly.

The two men went down, but not without winging one of the escorts. The SHIELD agent fell to the ground with a grunt, holding his side. Hill rolled to the right, her shoulders ducking out from the side of the cabinet and fired. The last man went down with a bullet hole in his forehead.

Agent Tomlin, her second escort, moved in to secure the downed gunmen, speaking into his radio to request a medical team. The Deputy Director reached over to grab a first aid kit, pulling out bandages to assist the fallen SHIELD agent. It looked like the fight was over for now.

* * *

Nick Fury returned to find his Headquarters a mess.

He halted upon entering the building, taking in the scene around him while Coulson returned from checking in the car at the motorpool. The other agent's face was as impassive as ever, though it held a hint of surprise.

Bullet holes decorated the walls and hallways. Junior agents were running around the lobby and main offices, carrying first aid kits, gas masks, and weapons. Med teams were traveling back and forth, carting around unconscious agents and what looked to be soldiers dressed in green and black tactical suits.

Hill was supervising from the main lobby security station, barking orders into a radio set. He gave her a questioning look. "What the hell happened here? Report, Hill!"

"Sir, we were infiltrated. Five teams total, all incapacitated," she reported dutifully. "We have fifteen agents down, some due to gas, some to weapon fire."

"And just how the hell did they get in here?"

She straightened her tunic nervously, steeling herself. "Turncoat, sir. Agent Melbourn was bribed into letting them in, according to the interrogation. He gave them access to the network line coming into the building as well as a keycard to get them past the door."

His eye narrowed. "I'll have a discussion with former Agent Melbourn later. Now, _where_ are my security personnel?"

"They make up half of the downed agents, sir," one of the medical staff answered bravely.

"You gotta be kidding me," Fury snarled, shaking his head. This would teach him to actually attend the annual Inter-Agency Meeting this time instead of finding a convenient world crisis. It was bad enough he was having to deal with accusations from at least one of them claiming he was poaching their agents, but to return home to word of a failed infiltration? "Who the hell was in charge? I thought Townsend was taking care of the fort."

"I was, Director-" Agent Townsend started until he was silenced by a glare from Hill.

She came to attention. "It's my responsibility, Director. As senior agent, I should have been able to stop it before we lost so many agents."

"Are they dead?"

Maria stuttered slightly, her head tilting to one side. "No sir, well- we did lose two agents, but-"

"They're not lost if they're still breathing, Hill. Their loss is regrettable, but two is better than all," Fury said, rubbing an eyebrow as he tried to process the situation. "Did they take anything?"

"No sir. Strike Team Mike was on site, and they were able to neutralize most of the intruders, as well as arrange for the servers to be encrypted remotely after communications had been cut off."

He paused, looking up again. "And why, pray tell would they want to do that? Our servers are already secure, and we've got trained personnel."

"IT has been running on a skeleton crew due to training, and three out of five techs capable of encrypting it from the server room are at a conference in Dallas. We had one tech available from the strike team but they weren't sure he would make it to the servers in time, and acted accordingly. It took my team half an hour to clear the last two floors and secure the labs before we got to the server room. Agent Chavez chose to try to secure it remotely to prevent any downloads."

Coulson nodded in understanding. "It was quick thinking on their part, Director- that's how they would do it, and they _have_ pulled off the same type of operation. By encrypting the database, he made sure that any data they pulled off of the network would be useless."

"They managed to re-loop the security feed too," Townsend added. "Reagan had their hacker under the impression that they had clear paths to their target areas, and that allowed the remaining security forces to ambush and neutralize the hostile forces. Honestly, their quick thinking kept this invasion from getting off the ground after they got into the building."

The Director nodded, an approving smile on his face. "I knew those guys would come in handy. For now, we need the servers back online. Who did the encryption?"

"Um," Townsend began, shifting nervously from one foot to another. "That's sort of the problem."

Fury's eyes narrowed. "What do you _mean_, problem? Who in the hell has my servers?"

"That would be Mr. Stark, sir," Agent Townsend replied hesitantly. He passed a note over to the Director, who looked at it and frowned. "He said this is the requirement for getting Jarvis to release the other half of the encryption code."

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters Briefing Room…_

Tony and Clint returned to Headquarters, waiting to brief Fury while Natasha and Steve remained in Montana to clean up. The archer had already been poked and prodded by Medical, who had _tsked_ over his head wound and promptly stitched it up, as well as cleaning the scrapes along his arm. Tony glanced back at the shallow cuts, wincing as he poked at the control panel of the small crab-like security drone.

"I still want your minions, Barton," Tony told his teammate, trying to break the awkward silence. "They think outside the box. I didn't think anyone would guess about the remote security monitoring function."

Hawkeye nodded, still staring at the notebook that he had been carrying with him lately. Tony's curiosity had been bugging him, but he had tried very hard to keep from snooping. The man's silence towards him was puzzling; Barton had been quiet ever since their rescue from Tuller.

"Okay, give," Tony finally said, frustration driving him to almost throw the bot back down on the table. He held himself back from doing so; Tony Stark would _never_ intentionally damage one of his babies.

"What?" Barton replied, looking up at him and blinking in confusion.

The engineer leaned over the table, his stylus held in his fingers, and glared at the agent. "I told you we were going to have a talk after the Tuller thing, and here we are, not talking. It's been a week, and you've been doing nothing but avoiding me, though you're surprisingly willing to chat it up with Bruce. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't like me anymore."

Barton closed his notebook slowly, frowning as he tried to find the right words. "I'm just… not good at apologies. What I said back in the workshop on the carrier, that thing I said about your weapons being the reason Chavez got screwed, uh… wasn't right."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected the man to remember that day. After several hours of lucidity, which included their little heart-to-arc chat, the archer had relapsed during the flight back to the Tower and spent the entire time singing and telling them about the odd visions he was having amidst his liberal use of the airsickness bags the flight crew had tossed to him.

Tony had read up on the drug, which had some rather odd reactions in general, and had been advised by Dr. Osterhouse about Clint's sensitivity to it.

"Look," the archer continued. "I was a bit pissed off at the whole getting kidnapped and electrocuted thing, and it felt like I was gonna hurl my insides out. I'm not the best person to be around when I'm sick, as you've seen. That didn't give me the right to say the thing I did whether or not I was thinking clearly, and we both know that. I would be a hypocrite to say it again. _There_- I've said it."

"Wow," Tony replied. He was truly stunned at his teammate's admission, considering he had become so used to hearing similar insults that he had tuned it out and forgotten about it. "I really don't know how to respond to that."

Barton's face grew dark, quickly taking on the appearance of a puppy that had been kicked one too many times.

Tony paused, pointing at him with the stylus before tapping it on the table. "Clint, do you realize that you're the _first _person to ever apologize for saying something like that? I mean, I've been called a warmonger, merchant of death, and a bunch of other things, but nobody ever said they're sorry afterwards. I guess, uh… thanks?"

"If you start crying, that is _not_ my fault."

"Seriously. I hate to get all sappy," he replied with a genuine smile, "but really, it means a lot."

"What, no snappy comeback?" Clint's skeptical voice asked, an eyebrow arched as he crossed his arms. "I'm _not_ gonna hug you."

A pair of shrieks drifted into the room from the ventilation grate, followed by clattering and a muffled battle cry of _"Yarr!"_

The archer looked up at the vent with a concerned expression. "What the hell was that?"

"That, my fine de-feathered friend," Stark replied with a vicious smile, "means they've found the second robot."

"Somehow, I don't think I wanna know," Clint muttered, opening his notebook again while they waited for the Director. "Any idea what's holding up ol' One-Eye?"

Tony shrugged. "I think he's making a public service announcement. You _are_ recording this, right, Jarvis?"

"_Of course, sir."_

Less than a minute later, they heard Nick Fury's voice over the intercom. _"Attention in the building. Ahem- I am a one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater. Stark, that's _all_ you're gonna get. Deal with it."_


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters…_

Carl Oyuki entered the cafeteria on a mission. It was an impossible mission: locate lunch before they bring out the Mystery Meat.

Dodging other agents and technicians that had too little time or money to go elsewhere, he slipped into the line and pulled a metal tray off the rack. Some of the food options were appetizing, but others were not quite as healthy, by the looks of things.

"No, they don't have pizza today. I thought I _told_ you that," Barton's voice spoke sharply from behind the younger agent. A rumbling noise followed it, followed by a yip.

Oyuki glanced next to him. Barton was looking down at his dog, who stared back with wide eyes. Arrow's tail wagged as he reared up slightly in excitement. There were snickers from some of the other agents, who received a low growl and a hard stare from the German Shepherd. The chuckles silenced.

Shaking his head, the former EOD tech selected a few items and moved down the line. Barton followed behind, dragging two trays and making selections as well. The agent nodded in greeting, then turned back to pick out a large flatbread.

"Will you stay _down_, already? You're gonna make me spill your food, and the nice lady's not gonna spoil you like usual," the veteran agent warned as his canine companion whined at the tray again. The dog had the decency to look chagrined, and trailed along sedately. "Ingrate."

The two field operatives chit-chatted, sitting down at a nearby table. Barton pulled the smaller tray in front of him and began combining several food items on top of the flatbread. First was the stewed tomatoes, which he gently smashed with a fork. Next, there was the shredded cheese from the baked potato, which went on top of the tomatoes. Finally, he spooned the concoction that had been advertised as a "hamburger casserole" on top of the pile.

"You know, I ought to let you starve, considering you destroyed Tony's cleaning robot," Barton muttered. Licking the residual sauce from his fingers, Barton set the tray on the floor in front of Arrow, who rumbled happily as he began devouring the impromptu meal.

Oyuki tried very hard not to laugh. Barton's tendency to talk to his dog constantly was the source of much amusement to the Operations staff. They tended to take bets on how many junior analysts and surveillance agents would try to escape from his presence. The surveillance agents had heard about the apartment fire as it was now required review material for their training, and they hoped to keep from upsetting him. The analysts just thought he was bat-shit insane.

"What?" the agent in question asked, looking up at Carl.

"Nothing, sir. It's just… you made a pizza out of cafeteria scraps for your _dog_," the Minion replied with a chuckle. "I think you're just inflating the rumors now."

Barton shrugged, continuing to eat in silence.

Oyuki's phone buzzed. He frowned as he read the text.

"Problem?" the older agent asked, piling the trays neatly and moving them to the side. Arrow looked up as well.

The Minion shrugged. "Old friend of mine from Iraq apparently got murdered while he was on leave last week. They just sent me the funeral information."

"Sorry to hear it. Losing squadmates is tough. Any idea who did it?"

"I'm not sure. The text didn't have a lot of information, but I plan on looking into it," Oyuki replied quietly. "Fulco was a good soldier and a damn good bomb tech."

Barton tilted his head to one side, as if remembering something. "Fulco. Any relation to a Nick Fulco- _Colonel_ Fulco, I believe now?"

"Yes, sir," the bomb tech replied with a quick nod. "Fulco- Tom, that is, said he wanted to go through the ranks like his old man did. He enlisted, and last I knew he was working his way up to OCS. Did you know his dad, sir?"

"You could say that. Come on, Lucky," Barton said, picking up the trays to make a hasty exit.

"I thought his name was Arrow?" Oyuki asked.

The archer rolled his eyes. "Arrow is a shitty name for a dog. I've been trying to give him a new one, but so far he's not going for it."

Arrow yipped happily, falling into place at Hawkeye's left. Together, man and dog left the cafeteria, with several new agents scrambling to give them space.

Carl frowned as he re-read the message on his phone. This was a sign that his week was going to hell already. Standing up, he decided to go find Sitwell to see about filling out some leave paperwork. The Minions hadn't taken any vacation aside from Chavez's sudden bout with hammer-in-chest syndrome, so he doubted they would complain if he took a few days off to say goodbye to an old friend.

* * *

The funeral was held on a calm, summer day in a Georgia cemetery located outside the city limits of Columbus, Georgia. Colonel Fulco had chosen to retire near Fort Benning, but preferred a quiet life out in the country on the property that had been owned by his family for generations. The cemetery was small, with a well-kept iron fence, neat rows of tombstones, and clean, freshly cut grass.

Laying his youngest son to rest was the Colonel's first priority, and many of his former soldiers had volunteered to stand watch over the interment to prevent any gawkers or interruptions from those that wished to cause trouble for the grieving family.

The Colonel himself stood still in his dress uniform throughout the burial; he only moved to salute at the appropriate times or to hold his wife as she wept when the honor guard handed their daughter-in-law the folded flag. At the end of the twenty-one gun salute, the soldier sensed a presence approach from the crowd of mourners.

"You're out of uniform, Sergeant," he commented softly.

The suited man ducked his head, pushing his sunglasses back into place on his nose. "All things considered, sir, it wouldn't be appropriate."

Colonel Fulco sighed softly. "Not in my opinion, Sergeant Barton. Not here. As it stands, I do appreciate you coming."

"Well, you've gone for the 'no camera' approach, and half of the brass that I've pissed off during my career are conspicuously absent. Other than that, sir, it wouldn't have felt right if I hadn't."

Fulco chuckled weakly. The marksman had always been good for a laugh, even if he had been the biggest pain in the ass that he had ever had the pleasure of commanding. He had almost missed Barton's bizarre sense of humor. Almost.

One unusual change was the presence of a large German Shepherd at Barton's side. Last he knew, the agent hadn't gone blind, so there must have been a reason to bring such an animal. The dog leaned against the marksman's leg slightly, watching the proceedings with a solemn gaze.

"Director Fury sends his regards," Barton continued. "He wasn't able to make it down yet. We had some, ah, urgent business back home and he couldn't step away."

"Worse than Kandahar?"

The SHIELD agent nodded. "Worse than Kandahar."

The Colonel winced. "You have my sympathies. Will you be in town long?"

"Long enough."

"Good. Sergeant, I would very much appreciate if you could stop by before you head back north. There are some _things_ I'd like to discuss, as well as catch up for old time's sake," Fulco asked quietly. He looked down slightly. "The dog is new."

"He's not a pet, he's therapy," Barton replied quickly, as if repeating the phrase out of reflex. "I'll be there, sir."

* * *

Oyuki stood back with the rest of his fellow EOD unit members, clad in dress uniforms and standing in formation. The funeral had been like every other military funeral he had attended: solemn, ceremonial, and dreadfully quiet.

He had been standing in position when something caught his eye. Standing near the Colonel were none other than Agent Barton and Arrow. They appeared to be speaking quietly. How did Barton know Tom's father?

Oyuki waited for the ceremony to end, then trotted over to Hawkeye after promising to meet some of his old teammates at the pub for a brew. Waving in greeting, he caught up to the pair before they entered Barton's vehicle. "Sir!"

"Hey," the archer greeted with a smile. "Thought you'd head out with your friends."

"I'm meeting up with 'em later," Oyuki replied solemnly. "I've picked up some information, sir. I'm just not sure what to do with it. Since you're here and all, I thought maybe I could run it by you?"

Barton scratched an eyebrow, then looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. "Where are you staying?"

"It's a small town, but they've got a Holiday Inn. I've got a room there."

"Fancy that- me too. Tell you what, they have a diner the next block over. Let me drop off the big guy here, and we'll grab lunch."

Oyuki smiled. "Thanks, sir."

"Be careful with the sir stuff around your friends, Oyuki," Barton warned, taking another glance at the crowd of soldiers and civilians heading back to their own vehicles. The archer grinned slightly at him. "We don't want to attract the wrong attention. Besides, kid- you're on vacation."

They met after an hour, each taking their time to return and change into more comfortable attire. Heading downstairs to the lobby, he found the older agent waiting there, dressed in jeans, work boots, topped with a red and grey hoodie. Barton nodded to him, pulling out his sunglasses and putting them on as they headed out the door.

The diner was a small, hole in the wall waffle house adorned with old shingles, stripped paint, and a flickering sign that proudly named the place "Waffle World." He looked at the sign in the window rating the place at a "C." Turning to the veteran SHIELD agent, he gave Barton a skeptical glance.

"C'mon," Barton encouraged. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"It looks like they ought to be serving the Special, like, at the end of that 'Spaceballs' movie, sir."

"There you go with that 'sir' thing again. Relax, you're on _vacation_."

Carl followed the agent into the diner, where they were soon confronted by a stereotypical waitress, complete with a short skirt, chewing gum, and a bored attitude.

"What _is_ this place?" the former soldier whispered frantically, noticing something odd about the diner and its patrons. "That waitress is armed. So's the hostess, and from what I can tell, everyone else in the damn place."

"This," Barton answered quietly, focusing on the menu, "is technically 'neutral ground.' The people that come to a place like this are all operators, and generally just want to go somewhere where they can eat waffles or pancakes or whatever the hell they feel like without getting shot at by the other side. The staff here keeps the peace."

"Does SHIELD know about this place?"

"Not really; it's more like a carefully ignored secret. There are places like this all over the world, if you know what to look for. Natasha knows some, Fury knows a few others, and I'm _pretty_ sure Coulson and Sitwell found at least one in New Mexico."

After placing their orders, Barton looked back at Oyuki. "So, what's on your mind?"

"The guys were talking, and they brought up the fact that there have been at least seventeen EOD techs killed within the last year; active duty, discharged, retired- that's quite a few deaths in one year. I don't know about you, but I think this is starting to get a bit fishy."

"Have you brought this up to anyone else? You're gonna need more information if you want to pursue it."

Oyuki fell back against the backrest of the bench seat, sighing. "That's just it. I'm not a detective, but I know that there's more to this than just a murder, or a bunch of guys dying. To be honest, I'm getting the heebie-jeebies- like I should watch my back or something."

"Have you thought about talking to Army CID about it? This is more their forte, to be honest. SHIELD doesn't do investigative work unless it's a matter of national security. Or, in _your_ case, a pissed off Sitwell."

"I suppose I could," the bomb tech replied with a shrug. "I just think it's worth looking into."

"Just be careful," Barton replied, pouring syrup on his plate. "You don't want to bring whoever's doing it down on your head if this is in fact some kind of conspiracy."

* * *

The timer was running out.

_A young woman sat nervously in a chair, a stout rope securing her chest against the back while her arms were bound to the arms._Over the rope bindings sat a heavy chain, locked in place by multiple sturdy padlocks.

Strapped to the chair was a complicated mess of wiring, looping in and out of a blocky device connected to the timer. Blocks of C-4 lay nestled within the device, as well as strapped to the legs and backrest.

Kneeling in front of the improvised device was a young man dressed in civilian attire. Frantically looking amongst the wiring, he dug into the recesses of the bomb with a multi-tool. The answer had to be within the cabling, but cutting the wrong wire at the wrong time might prove disastrous.

The couple had been taking a trip upstate, celebrating Mark's return from overseas and recent honorable discharge from service. He had had a good career, but chose to follow a different path than the military. The experience he had picked up as a member of the Army's EOD team had given him plenty of skills to bring to the police academy when he joined up in the spring.

They had been ambushed on their way back to their motel room; Mark had tried to fight their assailant off, but whoever it was had been better training than he, and the soldier was subdued quickly. Both had woken up in the old shack with Marie bound to the chair and a multi-tool laying next to Mark.

He wasn't sure what kind of sick game this was, but he only had one minute left on the timer. It was now or never: either he solved the little puzzle, or he could run away, leaving Marie to a fiery doom.

Snipping a wire, he inhaled sharply as the timer sped up. There was no time left. "Marie? You know I love you, right?"

"I- I love you too," she cried, shaking her head and bracing herself.

"Honey, I am so, so sorry-" he cried.

The bomb timer finally reached zero, and there was an audible click, sealing their fate as the world around them exploded into fire.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Special note... The updates will probably slow down for the next few chapters as I work on catching up with the storyline, so please don't get mad!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

Clint and Fury were led to the Colonel's study by Mrs. Fulco, who smiled at them warmly as she left to return to her own activities. The agents greeted Colonel Fulco, shaking his hand and taking the indicated seats.

The study was a comfortable room, decorated in rich, warm brown tones and antique cherry wood furniture. Clint looked around the room, his gaze falling on an old photograph in a metal frame. The faded picture was of a small child holding a soccer ball, smiling at the camera.

"I still remember when he was a little squirt," the archer commented with a slight smile. "Always chasing after his old man."

Fury remained quiet, allowing the two men to reminisce. The last time Barton had seen his former CO was at his family's memorial service; the archer had wanted things kept quiet, and the old warrior had been one of the few people invited to the service.

Clint Barton had little respect for officers, Directors, and anyone else in a position of authority, but he had held a deep admiration for Colonel Fulco. A major at the time, Fulco had taken the young, rebellious circus performer with trust issues and helped mold him into a soldier.

The Amazing Hawkeye had been created at Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders, where Barton had learned how to shoot and throw, never missing the target. It had been Fulco and the Army, however that had turned him into a true force to be reckoned with, teaching him the strategic planning and operational skills that would eventually lead people to fear him as Hawkeye, the master assassin.

Nick Fulco not only shared a name with Fury; he also shared a history of service in the Special Forces. The fiasco twenty years ago that had led to Barton's incarceration at Fort Leavenworth had nearly destroyed Fulco's trust in his own chain of command, and the man had promised to be much more careful about who he allowed Command to order him to loan out to the military's "Special Projects."

At least it had worked out in their favor; Barton had found himself on death row at the newly-built "Cube" after being transferred from Leavenworth, and had resigned himself to his fate when Fury had received the call from Fulco. The officer had asked him how he felt about acquiring one of Fulco's best operatives. Fury had laughed hysterically at the thought and walked away from the prison interrogation room with a color-blind archer in tow that had broken every marksmanship record SHIELD had been able to come up with.

"Sir," Barton was asking, "one of our agents brought up the possibility that Tommy's death may not be an isolated case. Has anyone made any threats, or left any clues that you may have heard that could back that theory up?"

"None, I'm afraid," the Colonel replied with regret. "There have been some rumors, of course, but nothing major that has been brought to my attention. As you well know, I was never really involved with the EOD units. We were usually setting the explosives, not dismantling them."

Barton leaned back, relaxing in the chair. "Well, it's a start, I suppose."

Fury's phone rang at that moment. The Director excused himself quietly, moving to the back of the study to answer the device. Colonel Fulco glanced at Barton, letting out a large sigh.

"One should never outlive their children," the officer observed morosely. "It just seems so unfair. Tommy was a _soldier_. Would you believe that I always expected that if he was going to meet the Lord, it would be either in his bed as an old man, or fighting one of those damn IED's he was so fascinated with? I _never_ imagined a gunshot in a back alley."

Clint leaned forward, catching his former commander's eyes. "Sir, I'm not going to sugarcoat it or try to say something that really belongs in an existential debate, but… you will get past this. That much I _do_ know, and that much I _can_ tell you from personal experience. It hurts- oh God, it hurts like hell, but you _will_ get past it."

The Colonel nodded weakly, on the verge of tears. "Whoever did this, Barton, I want them dead."

"Killing them won't bring Tommy back, sir."

"It'll make me feel better, I suppose," Fulco countered. His expression was as hard as steel, reminding Clint how dangerous the man truly was. "I swear to you, Sergeant- if this person is not dealt with properly by the authorities, then I will see that they answer for it. _Personally_."

The archer nodded in agreement. "We'll be watching the situation closely, sir. I'll be sure to keep you in the loop."

On the way out the door after a long chat, Fury stared at Barton while they got in the car. "Was there something I missed back there? You look a bit troubled. I don't like it when _you_ of all people look troubled."

"Nothing much. He just promised vengeance if the murderer gets away on some technicality, I guess. You know how the justice system works these days. Get a good enough lawyer and anything can happen."

"And I suppose he offered to see to it personally?"

"I used to _babysit_ that kid a long time ago, sir," Barton growled, fixing Fury with a warning stare. "If the Colonel asks, I'll do it _myself_."

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, one week later…_

"It's all right here, sir," Oyuki told Sitwell, laying several folders on the desk in front of the handler. "Someone _is_ picking off bomb techs, one by one."

Jasper Sitwell took a look at each folder, flipping through the newspaper article printouts, obituaries, and accident reports, taking in what his agent was implying. In the folder were records of each death in the last year; Oyuki had organized each report by victim, keeping each set together with a paperclip.

It was a good bit of work for someone with minimal experience in the investigative field. "I see you _did_ learn something from that homework assignment for the Third Precinct. This is a good start."

"But sir-what? A good start?" Oyuki repeated in confusion. He had half expected Sitwell to laugh at him. "You mean you're not gonna laugh at me?"

"Why would I?" Sitwell asked, watching the younger agent carefully. Oyuki was a good agent; all of the "Merry Men" were in their own way, but the man standing before him had always stood in his teammate's shadows. Chavez was the team's leader and on the fast track for promotion, Reagan had impressed both R&D and the Operations Departments on multiple occasions, and the Twins were… the Twins. People usually forgot about Oyuki, though the bomb tech seemed to prefer it that way most of the time.

He leaned back, browsing one of the folders at a slower pace. "Oyuki, if you hadn't taken the time to research this before coming to me, I may have laughed you out of my office. However, you had the foresight to make your case before arriving. This, I can take to Director Fury. I can't guarantee how seriously he will take this potential conspiracy, but he'll at least listen."

"Agent Barton mentioned this is probably something the Army should look into," the younger agent muttered, re-stacking the folders neatly. "He's probably right, but I just can't let this go, sir."

"You shouldn't. Agent Barton is right; this is an Army matter, but you forget- not all of the victims have been active duty. Have you forgotten that there are more than ten EOD specialists in the SHIELD Operations department?"

"Oh yeah," Oyuki said, remembering the last refresher training course scheduled for the following week. He hadn't met all of the bomb techs employed by SHIELD, but he knew he wasn't the only one.

Sitwell nodded. "It's a good thing you brought this to our attention. If there is in fact a conspiracy, whether orchestrated by a group or an individual, they could potentially target not only you but our other agents. We take care of our own, Agent Oyuki."

"Yes sir," Oyuki replied with a light smile. "How do you want me to proceed?"

Sitwell began typing on his computer, pulling up a contact list and taking his cellphone out of his pocket. The agent began dialing the number highlighted on the page. "First off, you and I are going to make an appointment with the local CID office at Fort Hamilton. We'll look into doing our own investigation time and resource permitting, but that doesn't mean we can't have a friendly chat with the Army."

* * *

_SHIELD Training Center…_

"It has been brought to our attention that there has been a potential threat to former and current EOD technicians," the SHIELD Ops supervisor announced, looking at the rows of agents standing before his podium.

There was a quiet murmur amongst the assembled agents in response. Twenty men and women were gathered for the annual required refresher courses. All were designed to improve the agents' ability to disable and dismantle any explosive device that came their way, as well as familiarize them with both old and new designs.

The supervisor shuffled his papers, clearing his throat before continuing. "As a precaution, we are requesting that any techs stop by the tech department for an intradermal locator. It's not mandatory yet, but we'd like to take precautions until we can get to the bottom of these threats. Any questions?"

Nobody raised their hands.

"Alright," he continued. "As part of the new security precautions, we'll be requiring daily check-ins to HQ at the beginning and end of your shifts. If you are planning to leave your duty location for any length of time, we'll need to know about it. If any one of you sees or hears anything odd, or receives any threats, contact HQ and ask for Agent Sitwell. Got it? Good."

Supervisor Greely was hardly surprised when he received the report that all of the techs had received their locators. There were very few techs in the organization overall, and they were responsible enough to follow this sort of request if it meant the difference between becoming a victim, or giving their agency a chance to rescue them. Bomb techs were a careful lot, with a few exceptions.

* * *

_Several days later..._

"Oyuki," Sitwell's voice spoke sharply. "We've got a situation."

Carl fumbled for the switch on the nearby lamp, shedding light on the small bedroom. "Whatcha got for me, sir?"

"We need you to report to the Columbia Street Waterfront District," the agent ordered. "We've got an improvised device set with a timer. I've called Chavez; your team will meet you there with your gear."

"Is this classified, sir? I mean, doesn't the NYPD have a bomb squad?"

Sitwell took a deep breath. "Whoever is doing this is escalating, Carl. There have been three more deaths, each with civilian casualties along with the techs. This time, the perpetrator took _three_ techs: one from the FBI, one from the NYPD, and one of ours. We've got another tech missing, but they seem to be in a different location."

"Who?" Oyuki reached for his uniform, forgoing the tactical vest this time. The bulky utility harness attached to it would only get in the way of his bomb suit. At least SHIELD had re-worked the design and fabricated a lighter weight version; he hadn't had much of a chance to test it until now, and he hoped the improvements held up if something went wrong.

"They took Masters as far as we know, and Marchese is missing. He didn't check in this morning or evening. We've been asked to provide assistance. R and D last traced the Masters' signal to the Waterfront District. They took one of our agents, Carl. We're claiming jurisdiction on this one."

Another agent knocked on his door, advising him that his ride was waiting. Oyuki recognized the agent as Agent Willimont, giving her a nod in greeting as he picked up his gear. She drove quickly, placing a small siren on top of the car to help clear traffic.

Upon arrival, he located Sitwell near a large shipping container. Chavez nodded, waving Carl over to begin suiting up. Reagan held parts of the new bomb suit in hand, checking the integrity. The Twins both wore grim faces, watching the area for signs of the bomber.

Sitwell was currently arguing with several other people in NYPD uniforms and suits; it looked like his report of taking over jurisdiction wasn't going over very well. There were several more officers dressed in tactical gear standing next to a disposal vehicle. A small team was suiting up in a similar set of gear, but the suit itself was not as thin or streamlined as Oyuki's.

The argument seemed to draw to a close, with Sitwell approaching Strike Team Mike. One of the local ESU officers held a look of determination and satisfaction as he returned to his disposal team. Sitwell wore a grimace, shaking his head in frustration.

"We've got a change in plans," the agent said, stopping in front of Oyuki as Reagan finished fastening the various straps in place that held his monitoring equipment. "How do you feel about working with another tech?"

"As long as they don't screw things up, I'm cool," Carl replied, checking the controls strapped to his wrist. "They sending in one of their guys?"

"Sort of," Sitwell said, his head turning towards the other team. Oyuki followed his gaze, watching a young woman checking her own monitors before a teammate helped put the bomb suit helmet into place.

"Blonde," Carl murmured appreciatively. He turned back to Chavez and gave him a lopsided grin. "Hot damn, she's cute. Do you think she's single?"

Chavez rolled his eyes, plopping the helmet on top of Oyuki's head and twisting it into place with a _click_. He slapped the helmet lightly, testing the seal. "Will you get your mind outta the gutter for one night, Carl? _Focus_."

"Yeah, yeah. You got the feed, Reagan?"

Reagan gave him a quick thumbs up, focusing on his laptop. The SHIELD suit held a small camera mounted on the helmet to record the entire disposal procedure for future study or to determine what went wrong in the event the bomb went off.

Once he was fully geared, he turned back to Chavez. "You got my back, right?"

"Always. You know that, man," the team leader replied with a smile. "Just be careful in there. Sitwell looks worried."

"No problemo- I may take chances with the crazy shit we get into, but bombs aren't something I take lightly," Oyuki said, his expression finally growing serious. "I _got_ this."

His team leader nodded, then un-shouldered his rifle. They moved towards the NYPD team, greeting them with a wave. The other bomb tech approached, flipping her visor up as she held out a gloved hand. They shook, sizing each other up.

"Officer Mary Watley," the officer greeted.

Oyuki nodded, smiling in return. "Agent Carl Oyuki. What've we got?"

They began walking together towards the large metal shipping container. The young woman began filling him in on the details. "The robot reports an improvised device, approximately two feet by two feet. We've got a bit of a rat's nest in there: C4, three types of det-cord, old wiring, digital readouts. It's a freaking _mess_, is what it is."

He winced. Improvised bombs were some of the worst; they could have unknown designs filled with plenty of tripwires, bad connections, extra triggers, or any other sort of nasty surprises. They approached the container with caution as two portable floodlights snapped on, illuminating the inside as well as the surrounding area.

Oyuki called out quietly. "Yo, Masters- you alive?"

"Yeah," a weak voice replied. "You uh, you may wanna hurry."

Seated on chairs in a rough square were the missing officers and agents, as well as the missing Marchese. They were tied securely to the chair, but with one hand loose. Each tech was holding a small multi-tool, glaring at the object and at the bomb itself.

"Holy shit, Marchese- they got you too, huh?" Oyuki asked with a smirk. The SHIELD techs glared at him sourly.

"Fuck you, Carl. You wanna help us figure this damn thing out? We may actually get some headway now that you guys brought some extra light. Damn prick left us a doozy here."

The Minion took a closer look at the device. Officer Watley cursed, examining the crude equipment. "What the hell?"

"Yeah," the tech next to Masters groaned. "That's kinda what we thought when the perp showed it to us."

Oyuki arched an eyebrow as he looked for the trigger mechanism. "He showed it to you?"

"Yeah- he was real proud of it," Masters snapped bitterly. "The guy's _nuts_, Carl. He rigged this thing to take time off of the timer each time we turned the damn light on."

The tech's gaze swung upwards, indicating a roughly wired lamp attached to four cables. Each cable led to a small foot pedal on the floor next to each kidnapped person's foot. If what Masters was implying was correct, any time the techs would power on the light to try to disarm the bomb, the timer would speed up, hastening their demise. It was completely nuts- either die a quick death at their own hands or wait as the countdown slowly ticked down.

"Well," Carl replied, trying to reassure them, "I do believe we can work through this."

"I'll start on the north side, you start on the south?" Watley asked.

Oyuki nodded, kneeling down to work. "Say, Marchese- you had a tracker too, right?"

Agent Joey Marchese grinned at him, displaying a split lip and a possibly broken nose. He cackled with glee. "Had, being the operative word, Carl. _Had_. Managed to dig it out while I was in the guy's truck, and stabbed the fucker before he kicked my ass again. Barely managed to stick it in, but he's now carrying _my_ tracer, ready for _you_ guys to pick him up anytime!"

They all blinked in surprise, the others muttering comments of shocked disbelief. Masters giggled. "You don't fuck with SHIELD, man."

"Dude, you would _so_ fit in with my team," Oyuki replied with a laugh, gently opening the housing on the timer control panel. "Too bad though- you can't have my spot."

"Why the hell would I _want_ to? Your team is _nuts_- I'd rather not take that sorta risk. It's bad enough you guys corrupted Captain America, man!"

Carl smiled as he expertly clipped and rewired the leads connected to the detonator module. "I swear, you get in _one_ barfight-"

Masters interrupted quickly, giving the other bomb techs a wary glance. "Operational security, guys! They don't have clearance to know about you-know-who."

"Aww screw that. What happens in the Shipping Container of Fiery Boom…" Marchese began, giving the others an expectant look.

"_Stays_ in the Shipping Container of Fiery Boom," the others finished in unison.

Marchese smiled proudly at them. "See? We're all buddies here. After what we've shared while holed up here, there's enough blackmail to go around for weeks."

"I think that concussion is messing with your head, man," Masters snapped in frustration. "Just shut _up_ already!"

Even Watley broke into a grin. "Got mine- looks like the final two will need to be done simultaneously."

Oyuki nodded. "Ready on three. One, two, three-"

There was a slight screech from the control panel as they cut the wires. The timer grew still, settling on an ominous forty-two seconds. They all breathed a sigh of relief, the kidnapped techs laughing hysterically as Oyuki and Watley began securing the explosives for transport.

After the victims were untied, a waiting set of paramedics moved in with shock blankets. Oyuki and Masters hauled up the wounded Marchese, waving off the EMT's and heading for Sitwell's SUV. Chavez took one look at them and reached for his medical kit.

"Sitwell's got HQ working on Marchese's tracer. They're sending a couple of teams to take him down. Hartwell asked to lead the detail personally," Chavez reported, guiding the wounded tech to the back tailgate of the vehicle and gently shoving him down. The team leader pulled out an emergency light, clipping it to one of the headliner hooks and switching it on for a better view.

Oyuki nodded; their handler was as efficient as always, acting immediately on the new information transmitted from the monitoring camera. He almost felt sorry for the perpetrator. Hartwell was very protective of his fellow agents.

"What the hell happened to you?" Chavez asked, helping the agent remove his shirt to take a better look at the bruises on the man's chest and the large, bleeding hole in his upper arm. The medic reached for the disinfectant, pouring a small amount in the wound. "Shit, man- did you dig that out with a freakin' _chainsaw?_"

"Hacksaw, actually. Hurts like a bitch," Marchese replied with a grimace. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Oyuki watched his teammate tend to the wounded agent while Masters and Reagan helped remove the bomb suit. He breathed deeply once the cool air hit the sweat-dampened cloth of his uniform. The new suit was supposed to have built in air-conditioning, but it still seemed overly stuffy- yet another thing to talk to R&D about.

He noticed Chavez smirking. His team leader nodded in the direction behind him as he unwrapped a bandage, fastening it expertly to Marchese's arm until they could have it looked at by a SHIELD doctor. Oyuki felt sorry for the other agent; he would most likely need to have the damage repaired surgically.

Turning around, Carl smiled as he noticed the NYPD bomb tech approaching. She held a warm smile as she walked towards him. "Guys, this is the tech that went in with me. Officer Mary Watley, meet my team leader and fellow minions."

"Hi Mary," they greeted in unison, smiling and waving at her. She blinked, taking it in stride and waved back.

Watley held out a hand to Oyuki again. They shook, walking away from the vehicle while his teammates snickered. Her face grew serious again. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me save my partner. I'm not sure I could've taken this one alone, to be honest."

"We can't win them all," Carl replied sadly. "I was over in Iraq. No matter how good you are, there's always a chance you'll run into something out of your league. IED's are the _worst_."

The officer nodded in agreement. She ducked her head shyly, a toe dragging on the ground back and forth in a nervous gesture. "Say, I uh, don't suppose you'd let me buy you a cup of coffee as a thank you?"

"I, um," Oyuki almost stuttered in surprise, "I uh, can't let you do that. A couple of our guys were trapped in there too. I should be thanking _you_ for the help as well."

"Oh," she started, frowning slightly. Her foot stopped its nervous movement.

Carl held a hand out. "Oh, no no no- I would _love_ to go for a cup of coffee. As a matter of fact… aw hell. Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

Watley smiled, perking up. "Okay! _Sure!"_

He smiled as she dug out a card with her number printed on it, passing it to him before jogging back to her own team. They appeared to be heckling her, judging by the way she smacked one of the officers, a shy smile still on her face.

"Yo, Carl- debrief back at HQ!" Chavez called, waving him back to the SUV.

Oyuki jogged back to the vehicle with a wide smile, pocketing the card. He now had a date with a hot blonde that knew as much about explosives as he did, and the bomb tech had taken on one of the most complicated IED's he had seen in years. What could go wrong now?

* * *

Well, there you have it folks- the end of this little part of the story. There will be a short hiatus as I do some more plot-storming and recharging the brain cells... work can be so _draining_ sometimes! It'll also get a couple other story ideas out of my head to make room for more Tales from the Minion-verse! Be back in a little bit!


	19. Chapter 19

Well, I guess you could say I'm sort of back from Hiatus! Stuff's been coming up leading to way too much stuff to do in real life, so the updates may not be as fast as they were previously. My thanks go out to those that have kept up with the story and have had so much patience with me!

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Abandoned building, Queens, New York City…_

Agent Cyrus Hartwell waited patiently for the surveillance team to report their findings. The suspect was a known explosives user; there was no telling what kind of ordnance he had holed up in the old warehouse.

An ordnance detection team quietly joined him, led by one of SHIELD's K-9 units. The dog strained against her leash, whining as she anticipated the upcoming takedown. Her handler knelt down and whispered to her, calming the excited Norwegian Elkhound.

Hartwell was not happy with their suspect. Normally, they would leave this sort of thing to the local authorities, but he had kidnapped two of SHIELD's own, and that was unacceptable. Surveillance had picked up the tracker shortly after Marchese was reported missing, and thankfully the agent had had the quick thinking to plant it on his attacker.

"_Team One to Leader,"_ Agent Harper said, cutting through the silence. _"Target is present, location in the main office. No other suspects found. There appears to be a computer system to the north of the entry. Weapons are lined up against the east wall, within reach of the target. No ordnance spotted."_

"Copy that, Team One. Breach Team, take him down as soon as you can- don't let him reach for a weapon. Eyes, you got us covered?"

"_Eyes is ready,"_ their sniper reported. _"No ordnance visible. He may have it in a vehicle or underground."_

Hartwell nodded to the rest of the team. "Alright. Surveillance, Eyes, we'll give him a couple minutes to step away from the weapons. On your signal, Breach Team will enter."

"_Copy that,"_ both teams replied.

Several minutes later, the surveillance team reported the target had left the office and was heading away from the weapons. With a quick nod, the breach team readied their weapons and set a Doorbuster on the lock, stepping to the side and allowing it to work its magic. The counter dropped to zero, and a quiet hiss followed by a loud bang indicated that the door was now open.

Moving into the building, they charged the target, who stared at them in shock, a fresh bandage in hand. His pants had been removed in order to make it easier to re-wrap his wound. As with almost every suspect caught at a vulnerable time, the man decided to do what most of them would; he ran.

Catching sight of the man as he limped haphazardly, the Breach Team broke into a run, catching up to him easily. As the agents approached, the target swung wildly, attempting to flatten the nearest agent with a haymaker. The agent swung the butt of his weapon upwards, catching the man on the chin and sending him backwards.

Hartwell approached with the rest of the team. Signaling to the search team, they nodded in response as they began checking the perimeter. The large SHIELD agent stopped next to their target, looking down at the panting man.

"Who the hell _are_ you people?" he panted, glaring at the agents defiantly. The man cursed as another agent stepped on his wrist before he could reach for a weapon. "Hey! Aren't you supposed to read me my rights or something?"

"Do we _look_ like cops to you?" Hartwell replied, reaching down and knocking the man out with a quick blow to the temple. The team's medic approached, nodding to Hartwell to indicate that the man was still alive. The team leader snorted as another agent secured the target with zip-ties. "This punk took out _two_ of our guys? _Pathetic._"

Noting mentally that Ops needed to step up training for their agents across the board, he waited patiently for the search team to locate the bomb supplies. The target would be taken back to Headquarters for interrogation; he appeared to be working alone so far, but there was always a possibility that there were accomplices. The man had to have gotten his information from somewhere, and SHIELD was going to find out who spilled the beans.

"_Search Team to Leader,"_ the dog handler reported, having moved down into the basement. _"Freya found the materials. We're lookin' at a shitload of ordnance, sir- some of this stuff is pretty tame, but I do see some nitro down here. I think we're gonna need a full disposal unit, sir."_

Hartwell grimaced. Some explosives like C-4 were stable and could be transported with little trouble, but nitroglycerin was notoriously unstable. "Command, you catch that?"

"_Copy that,"_ Senior Agent Parker's calm voice replied from his place in the nearby command truck. _"We've contacted Ops. They're sending a full disposal unit to take care of it. For now, secure the perimeter and send your search team to check the rest of the buildings. We don't want any surprises. I'll join you in five."_

"Copy that," the team leader said, signaling to his fellow agents. He hated surprises.

* * *

_Charlie's Diner, Manhattan, The next day…_

Agents Coulson and Sitwell looked up from their menus as Chavez and Oyuki approached. The team leader was watching the staff with a wary look on his face. Oyuki didn't seem to be affected, plopping himself down on the bench seat with a smile.

Coulson smiled lightly at them. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen."

"Sir, are you sure this is a good place to be?" Chavez asked quietly, joining Oyuki in the booth. "Did you see that the staff are-"

"All armed? Yes, Chavez, we're aware. Agent Oyuki can fill you in on it later," Sitwell said quietly, sliding a menu over to him. "It's the reason we're here."

Oyuki picked up his own menu, browsing the options. He shrugged as his friend gave him a confused look. "Agent Barton introduced me to 'special diners' when we ran into each other down in Georgia."

"Ah, the funeral?" Coulson asked, flipping to the next page.

The bomb tech nodded as the waitress came over to collect their orders. She glanced down at the small, black box sitting on the table next to Coulson and raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Noise dampener," the veteran agent informed, sliding it to the end of the table. Nodding, she picked up the box and returned to the kitchen. At the younger agents' questioning looks, he explained with a light shrug, taking a sip from his coffee. "They reserve the right to check any devices brought in for the safety of the staff and other diners."

The waitress soon returned, setting the box back down on the table. "You're good."

After the young woman had taken their orders and left the table, Sitwell cleared his throat. "We've decided that we need a more… _discreet_ setting, for now."

Coulson pressed a button on the device, activating the sound dampening field. "First off, we've got an update on your case, Oyuki."

"Oh?" The younger agent's face perked up. He had been wondering what was going on with it after hearing about Hartwell's rather uneventful raid. He heard that the man had actually pouted at how easily the target went down. The look on the disposal crew's faces had been rather entertaining when it was reported that they'd be transporting nitro and several other volatile catalysts, though.

"I completed the interrogation last night," Sitwell continued. "It looks like you were on the right track. The exception is that this guy's just a hired thug. He gave up the information on the actual bomber, so I'd like you to take a look and see if you recognize him."

The bomb tech took a close look at the suspect profile that Sitwell had displayed on his phone. "Nope, doesn't ring any bells, sir."

The bald agent frowned. "Pity. The man's name is Edward Delaney- a chemist who worked for a small chemical manufacturing company in Birmingham, Alabama. Apparently, his younger brother was killed by a bomb when an EOD tech was unable to disarm it in time. The tech had to make a hard choice: leave the soldier or risk the entire unit. He was injured in the explosion, but the rest of the unit made it out okay."

Sitwell looked back down at his device, flipping through files with a finger as he continued. "It was a very unfortunate incident, but as you both know, that kind of thing can happen at any time in a combat situation. Mr. Delaney, however, wasn't as understanding and decided to take his frustrations at the DOD out on any bomb tech he can get his hands on. The man is smart, and coupled with a history of mental instability, it makes for a dangerous combination."

"Whatever happened to the original bomb tech?" Chavez asked out of curiosity.

"He was one of the more recent victims," Sitwell reported. "Mark Chasil. He was overseas until recently, so Delaney waited until he returned to send our current detainee, one Tim Stroscyk. Delaney knew that he was no match for most of his victims in unarmed combat, so he hired someone to do his kidnapping for him."

"We've detained Stroscyk indefinitely for questioning," Coulson explained, his face expressionless. His voice barely hid his disgust.

Oyuki nodded slowly. "So, what about Delaney?"

"He's been pretty clever so far, so we're going to need to dangle a little bait in front of him to see if he bites. How do you feel about playing decoy?" Sitwell asked carefully.

"As long as you don't let him blow me up, I'm cool with it," Oyuki replied with a grin. "We need to catch this guy."

Sitwell smiled lightly, making notations on his phone. "We'll get started when we get back to Headquarters. Now, for the last part of this little get-together… Coulson?"

The older agent nodded, putting his phone away. He turned to Chavez, waiting for the waitress to drop off their meals before continuing. "I understand that Director Fury has you keeping an eye on Agent Barton?"

They nodded. Chavez shrugged, cutting into his food. "Nothing unusual to report. No eye color changes, no freaky mood swings unless the guys are baiting him, but that's normal for _anyone_, I suppose. We haven't had a mission together in a while, but we do spar sometimes in the gym."

Agent Coulson let out a small sigh of relief. "That's good. Have you noticed anything unusual other than that?"

"Aside from the OCD thing at lunchtime?" Chavez asked, taking a bite. The food was pretty good for being served in what looked like a ratty old diner from the outside. Appearances were deceiving sometimes.

"Explain, please."

The younger agent shrugged. "He's got a thing about always hitting the cafeteria at the same time, even in the middle of training. I thought he was on medication at first, but when I asked as part of a pre-mission status check, he said no. I believe him, sir."

"That's what I suspected," Coulson replied with a frown. "Agent Romanoff and I suspect that whatever conditioning was originally set with the Tesseract may have been re-activated when he was exposed to the same energy again by Tuller."

It was Chavez's turn to frown. "Conditioning?"

Coulson almost snorted in annoyance, reaching for the pepper shaker. "The conditioning that you noticed when he was enthralled by Loki. The inability to sleep and feel hunger stayed with him for a couple of months afterwards, and it took behavioral conditioning and sleep medication to sort of reset him, if you will. He was doing fine up until the Tuller incident, barring the occasional time when he forgets."

The team leader pointed a fork at the older agent. "Like the hospital room when I got hammered?"

"Precisely. The incidents were rare, but now we're concerned we're going to have to start from scratch again. Medical has begun writing new protocols for dealing with Post-Tesseract Stress, as Dr. Osterhouse is calling it."

The Minion team leader grimaced. "I guess you could call it that, sir. Whatever you label it, it's no joke."

Coulson stared at them. "No, it isn't. Romanoff reports he's doing better now that he's back on the regimen that Medical had him following the first time, so we haven't seen fit to confine him to quarters or anything drastic. Captain Rogers and the others are all living with him at Stark Tower now, so they'll keep him out of trouble."

Oyuki paused from his meal. "You're worried about when he's out of the Tower, though."

The veteran agent nodded. "Of course. Barton is a good man, and he's had a lot of very unfortunate incidents in his life. To put it mildly, _very_ bad things happen when he gets compromised. It usually leads to a high body count, massive property damage, or both. I'm hoping to head off anything that may pop up when he's within our sphere of influence."

The younger agents nodded in agreement. Chavez couldn't help but ask his next question. "Does this have anything to do with the eye color thing?"

Coulson and Sitwell both gave him a wary look. Chavez shifted in his seat slightly, glancing around out of reflex before lowering his voice. "I saw, um, _evidence_ that something weird was going on in that lab. Agent Barton's eyes changed color like the last time, but it was only for a split second, then they went purple, and back to normal. Whatever they tried to do, it was, I dunno, being blocked."

"Blocked? As in physically?" Sitwell's asked curiously.

Chavez shook his head. "It wasn't anything I could see other than the eyes. They turned black, blue, then purple, then he went unconscious. It was like it tripped a switch or something."

"We'll keep that in mind. Thank you for your input, Agent Chavez," Coulson replied calmly. "Could you please pass the salt?"

"Sure," the younger agent replied, passing the small shaker over. "Hey, whatever happened to Tuller?"

"Tuller is no longer a concern," Sitwell replied. "The DNA test confirmed his identity from what remained of his body after the Hazmat team cleared the area. There wasn't much left of him to clean up."

* * *

_Stark Tower, Manhattan…_

Tony felt like banging his head on the wall again as his oldest friend asked him the same question for probably the thousandth time today.

"Are you sure they're okay with me staying at the Tower?"

He sighed. "Yes, Rhodey, they're fine with it. It's Bruce's turn to cook tonight, and he makes a mean chicken curry dish. They know you're a friend of mine, and most of the team doesn't mind an extra person at the table as long as there's prior notice. You know, for logistical planning, and all. That's what you military types call it, right?"

The elevator made a _pung-_like sound as they reached the main residential floor. Leading the colonel into the common area, he whistled lightly and made a beeline for the drink counter. You waited patiently with a fresh chlorophyll smoothie, passing it to Tony with a cheerful _bloop_.

Rhodey dodged a small, Roomba-like device that sped across the floor, beeping as it headed for the kitchen. "You've got more of them."

"Robots?" Tony asked, taking a long drink from the glass. He grimaced at the taste. "The robots aren't the only new addition."

The officer nodded, removing his jacket and draping it over the couch. He was turning back to Tony when he paused, spotting something that was definitely _not_ a robot.

A low growl hung in the air, emanating from a large German Shepherd. The dog's ears were laid back as it stared at the new arrival. Rhodey began to take another step back, but froze as the growls deepened and the dog bared its teeth.

"You, uh, may not wanna move," Tony replied, giving them an amused look. "He doesn't like strangers. Easy, boy."

Rhodey wasn't sure if the last comment was meant for him or the dog. He held his hands up in the air, staring back at the German Shepherd. "Tony? When did you get a damn guard dog? It looks like it wants to _eat_ me or something."

"He gets that a lot," Tony commented, walking over to stand next to his friend. "And he's not mine, he's Barton's. It's most likely the uniform."

"Uniform?" the officer nearly squeaked. "Tony, tell him to back off."

The engineer chuckled, whistling at the dog. His ears returned to their normal position as he trotted calmly to Tony's side. He patted the canine awkwardly on the head, praising him quietly. Arrow was only doing his job, after all. There was no need to scold him for protecting the house.

"What has my uniform got to do with Cujo?" Rhodey asked again, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Oh," Tony said, giving him a happy look. "Bruce must be home, and the big guy here has learned that Air Force uniforms make Bruce nervous. When the Hulk is unhappy, everyone's unhappy. If you had worn your fatigues, you probably wouldn't have gotten the grumpy treatment, to be honest."

Rhodey looked down at his dress blues. "You forgot to mention that bit."

Tony shrugged. "I was curious. You, my friend, just helped proved a minor theory that's been bugging me for a little while. Besides, that's what you get for letting them station you so far away for so long!"

The colonel sighed. He was used to Tony's shenanigans.

"Besides," the engineer continued, motioning him to follow. "I figured we might as well get some work done while you're here, Mr. War Machine. Oh, and there's a few house rules that we all follow- I'll get you the list. While some of them _will_ be strange, they're for everyone's safety and happiness. "

Leading his friend to the guest quarters, Tony left him to get himself settled in and change. Returning to the living room, he chuckled slightly at his friend's behavior. Rhodey was such a good sport!

He found Bruce in the kitchen, moving some of Barton's pots around and turning to monitor something that smelled rather pungent. Several flat packs of chicken breasts were defrosting on another counter. As he moved around the kitchen, the scientist wore a contented look that Tony was loathe to disturb.

"Hey," Bruce said, pointing towards a cabinet. "Can you pass me the vinegar? I thought I was done with it, but the taste is a little _off_."

Nodding, the engineer reached up and pulled the bottle down, handing it over to Bruce. "Say, Bruce, I just wanted to give you a heads up that my pal Rhodey is here."

"Oh?" The scientist moved back to the pot, reaching in with a spoon to taste the concoction.

"Yeah. Rhodey, as in Air Force Colonel Rhodey."

Bruce paused, breathing in sharply. "Should I be concerned?"

"No," Tony replied warmly. "He's my oldest friend, and I trust him not to go tattling to Ross. I don't think he even likes the guy, personally. Something about the good General being a pompous, narrow-minded ass."

"Ah," Bruce replied, letting out a sigh of relief. "If you trust him, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Tony perked up. "You mean it? No turning big and green? I just didn't want you to get startled. Barton's dog already spooked the poor guy. If the Hulk made an unexpected appearance, I'm not sure I'll ever get him to visit again, to be honest."

"You and Pepper have been looking after me for the last year or so, Tony. If I didn't trust you now, I couldn't trust _anyone_, I think. It takes more than a uniform to _startle_ me, by the way."

"Thanks, big guy," the engineer replied with a smile, lightly slapping the physicist's arm with the back of his hand. "The others should be getting home soon, I think. Let me know when dinner's ready?"

"Sure."

* * *

Clint returned home from his most recent mission the following day, shrugging a worn backpack off of his shoulder and falling back into the couch with a sigh. Arrow woofed lightly, wagging his tail in greeting.

He reached over to scratch the dog behind his ears. "Hey, mutt."

"_Welcome home, Agent Barton,"_ Jarvis greeted, his posh voice nearly startling Clint. _"I am glad to see that you've returned from your assignment unharmed."_

"Thanks," he told the AI, looking up and around the room out of reflex. He laid his head back down on the back of the couch, sighing. He had been living in the Tower for months, and the AI still managed to surprise him. He supposed it was the lack of a body and his current weariness.

"_Mr. Stark requests that you join him in the ballistics lab when you're ready. He is currently working on the War Machine project and was hoping for your input,"_ the AI continued. _"He does have a guest with him. Shall I tell them that you've arrived, or would you prefer to have more time to recuperate first?"_

"Oh, give me about a half hour, I guess. I need to get cleaned up," Clint replied, groaning as he sat up. He stood, picked up the pack and headed towards his quarters.

True to his word, Jarvis had waited before reporting his return to Tony. The engineer wasted no time in returning to the Avengers' living space, motioning excitedly to another man as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Barton! Just the person I was looking for!" Stark chirped, veering towards the kitchen, where Clint was in the middle of assembling a sandwich. "Hey, you do remember we have dinner coming up soon, right?"

"It's Natasha's turn to cook," Clint replied, leveling a stare at the engineer.

Stark winced, looking back to his companion. "Oh. Right. Um, we may want to follow suit, then. Rhodey, would you mind getting the lunchmeat out of the fridge?"

The man gave them a wary look, but walked over to the refrigerator to retrieve the sandwich fixings. "Is there something I should know?"

Clint shrugged at him as he slid the pickle jar out of Tony's reach. "Natasha isn't exactly, uh… good in the kitchen. She likes to… _experiment_."

His tone had Stark's friend reaching for the bread as well. The genius seemed to recall something suddenly, halting his attempt to reach the jar of horseradish that Clint knew he had hidden there the week before. He snapped his fingers. "I _almost_ forgot. Rhodey, Barton. Barton, Rhodey."

The man, now introduced as Rhodey, rolled his eyes and held out his hand, chuckling. "Colonel James Rhodes, US Air Force."

Clint shook his hands. "Clint Barton. Everyone calls me Barton, and I believe we've already met."

"SHIELD suspected accomplice files don't count," Tony scolded.

Rhodey was watching him, a scrutinizing look spread across his face. "Now that you mention it, you do look familiar."

The archer smiled. "Flight school, back in two thousand-one. You were in the same class on the F-22 when I was getting my initial flight quals."

The other man's face took on a focused look. "Now that you mention it, you _do_ look familiar."

Clint smiled mischieviously. "I was the one the instructor tried to kick out of class a few times."

Rhodey laughed, shaking his head at the memory. "Because you were correcting his math all the time. Man, you were our hero- that instructor was an _ass!_"

Tony watched as the two men laughed, recounting several amusing memories of pranks pulled by their fellow students as well as some favored and hated instructors. Flight school had apparently been an interesting time for both of his friends.

"So, what brings you here? Something tells me it's not for the sight-seeing," Clint said, cutting his sandwich into neat halves before stopping to clean up the mess in front of him. One of the first things Tony had noticed was that the man's compulsive neatness had in fact extended itself to his living quarters and not just his workshop.

The archer had truly been a mess when Tony had visited the apartment to drop off Arrow. The small apartment had been an untidy mess of pizza boxes, pock-marked walls, and other assorted clutter strewn about.

Rhodey looked over at Tony, then turned back to the SHIELD agent. "Well, Tony here seems to think you can help us out with the War Machine suit."

Clint tilted his head, confused at the idea. "Are you serious? I don't do robotics, Stark."

"It's not the robotics that I want you to take a look at," the engineer replied, pointing at Clint with his sandwich. "The suit needs some fine-tuning with the payload, and I haven't been keeping current on weaponry development. Well, unless it's for the Iron Man suit."

The archer's eyes narrowed. "What kind of 'fine-tuning' are we talking about?"

"Well, there are some issues with the Hammer tech that was hybridized in the War-Machine suit," Stark replied carefully, ignoring Rhodey's attempt to stare at the floor out of shame.

Clint nearly dropped his sandwich. "Why in the _hell_ would you put Hammer gear on an Iron Man suit?"

"_War Machine_," Stark corrected before taking a bite out of his own creation.

The archer shrugged. "It's still an Iron Man suit, Stark. It's just a different model."

"Tony had a bit of a hissy-fit when he thought he was dying a few years back. We got into it and I, uh, took the suit," Rhodey admitted.

"So the government _did_ swipe the suit," Clint replied, leaning back on his stool and fixing the other men with a grin. "Shame, shame, Colonel."

"No big deal. If I didn't want him to have it, I would have activated the security measures."

"Whatever. I suppose the little Senate Arms Committee hearing had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it, either."

Stark looked like he would have whistled innocently if he hadn't been swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. He shrugged back at the SHIELD agent, who appeared to be having a staring contest with the dog over the last slice of roast beef that hadn't been put away. "I gave him the suit. What he does with it is up to him."

"Hammer offered to do the weapons installs since Tony was so unstable. Not to mention, Stark Industries doesn't do weapon development anymore," the Colonel explained.

Clint let out a tired breath, shaking his head. "Hammer gear isn't compatible- you've got about a fifty-fifty shot of it working or not. Trust me, SHIELD's R and D department has found that out the hard way. You don't mix Stark Tech with _anything_. It's too proprietary, and there's usually no need."

Rhodey nodded, sighing in resignation, and pretended to ignore Tony's chest puffing out slightly with pride. Though he would never admit it outwardly, the engineer was always happy to hear someone else aside from him defending his creations, _especially_ against Hammer tech.

"Well, whatever it is you want me to look at, can it wait until morning?" Clint asked, stifling a yawn. "I just got off of twenty four hours of flight time and debriefing, and I'd rather look at it with a clear head."

The other men nodded, sending the agent off to his quarters with a light wave and a promise to meet in the ballistics workshop in the morning. Tony reached for the remaining lunchmeat and whistled quietly, tossing the chunk of beef to Arrow. The dog wagged his tail happily, then trotted off after Barton.

"You enabler," Rhodey scolded, laughing at the sight. He was glad the canine had decided that he wasn't a threat, and found Arrow to be an interesting addition to Tony's little "collection." Tony would never admit to wanting a dog when he was younger, and seemed to take advantage of every opportunity to spoil the animal rotten.

Tony seemed much happier these days with his new roomies, which meant Rhodey didn't need to blast them with the "Ex-Wife." Well, maybe with some of the more _reliable_ armaments.

"Tony," he said, trying to catch the engineer's attention. "You're sure he's not gonna flake out on us or blow you off?"

The engineer shook his head. "Not this guy. I trust him. He travels a lot, so I totally understand him not wanting to dig into our little project right now. We'll head down first thing and have him take a look at your little performance issues."

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters…_

Director Fury let out a large sigh as he approached his office. The sound of muffled squawks and shrieks emanated from behind his door, scaring several paperwork minions and techs as they walked by. He took another hesitant step forward as Hill approached.

"What is that _noise?_"she asked, clutching a stack of files to her chest, her eyes narrowing. "It sounds like someone's being tortured in there."

Fury nodded slowly, his hand reaching for his sidearm and slowly sliding the strap off of his holster. Pressing a thumb to the nearby biometric reader, he turned the doorknob after hearing the standard _click_ reporting the latch had released.

The screeches assaulted his ears as he stepped into the office. Hill and two nearby agents ducked as several brightly colored birds flew out of the office, slipping through the door. Fury was greeted by several calls of "_Hello!_" or "_Shut up!_" along with several other colorful phrases, shouted at him by the larger parrots perched on his chair, desk, and shelves.

"You gotta be _shittin'_ me," he muttered softly, his eye widening at the mess. "_Hill!_"

"Yes, Direct- what the _hell?_" Hill replied in shock, wincing at the loud cacophony of shrieks. "Sir?"

The office was a riot of color, occupied by numerous parrots, parakeets, and other brightly colored birds which flew from shelf to shelf and landed on any available perch. His prized furniture was covered in bird droppings and loose feathers. Several documents were strewn about the desk and floor, being chewed on by some of the smaller avians.

A large, blue and gold parrot glared at him from the back of his chair and flapped its wings. "_Dumbass!_"

Fury didn't budge, and merely stared at his formerly neat and orderly office. "Call Sitwell and get his ass up here to clean up this mess."

She nodded weakly, escaping the office and pulling out her phone to make the call. Fury took another step forward in an attempt to rescue his tablet before it became coated in bird poop. As he put his foot down, a slight depression gave way.

He barely caught the board as it spung up from the ground, halting it approximately two inches from his face. Taking a closer look, the Director noticed a hastily-scribbled phrase on the plank.

_Prepare to be boarded._

Fury frowned, an act which normally sent lesser beings such as file clerks and newly-minted agents scurrying for cover. Stepping back and slightly to the side, he winced as he was smacked in the backside by another spring-loaded board, bearing the same phrase as the one he had caught.

He sighed. It was going to be one of those weeks.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Remote Briefing Center, the next day…_

Chavez straightened his tie again, unused to wearing the crisp, new suit. A stack of papers sat on the desk in front of him, ready for his signature. He hated paperwork, but the brass had quietly informed him that it was "all in the name of fun" while they broke in the most recent graduates from the SHIELD Training Program.

The team leader was masquerading as a Linguistics Analyst for this round of "Spot the Ops Personnel." Somewhere else, Oyuki was fumbling around with the medical team and getting a refresher on First Aid, Reagan was getting to play around in the R&D department for a solid two weeks, and the Twins were scouring Fury's office with a matching pair of toothbrushes.

Agent Maxwell had reported the recent class, with very few exceptions, was sorely lacking in situational awareness skills. Most of them had barely squeaked by before graduating and being posted to their new stations. There were quite a few new graduates with a bigger potential that were being stationed at Headquarters for various reasons, mostly to backfill some agents that had requested transfers due to an inability to handle the strange incidents that had been cropping up in New York City over the last year.

Apparently, terrorists and bomb threats were preferable to mutant invertebrates and rogue automatons.

Stifling a chuckle, he returned to his papers, going over a proposed lesson plan while the rest of Headquarters began the yearly hazing of graduates that was loosely disguised as training. Sitwell had informed him that he would be expected to give a seminar on the basics of the Asgardian language for the Linguistics team as well as the Diplomacy detachment that was training to work with Thor's homeworld. They weren't expecting him to teach to the extent that his own lessons with the Asgardian prince had covered, but it couldn't hurt to keep from insulting the next Ambassador's ancestry by accident during the initial greeting.

Another fresh face stopped at his desk- one of the new analysts. The young woman glanced around nervously before looking at him again. He gave her a bright smile. "Can I help you, Agent?"

"Um, yes… I'm supposed to be dropping these off with the supervisor here, and I can't remember who it is," she blurted tearfully. "This is _so_ embarrassing."

Chavez groaned inwardly, but maintained the smile on his face. He pointed with a pen towards Hartwell, who sat at a desk at the end of the row cackling while he stamped a large pile of papers. "Over there."

It was time for the games to begin.

* * *

_Stark Tower…_

Tony walked through the door leading to the Ballistics Workshop, motioning for Rhodey to follow. The officer took a look around the large lab area, noticing the rows of test equipment and fully stocked, neatly organized workbench. The smell of bleach and pine drifted, providing a sense of cleanliness. If Rhodey didn't know any better, he would swear it was cleaner than even _Tony's_ workshop.

A firing range took up most of the back of the shop, complete with both firearm and archery targets. Beside the range stood a stack of buckets, several torso-shaped molds and a large, industrial strength mixer that reminded him of a scene straight out of Mythbusters.

Rhodey also took note of the large, _extremely_ secure-looking storage locker that was plastered with warning labels.

Barton sat at the main workbench, hunched over while soldering what was most likely a new arrowhead prototype. A magnifier attached to a swing-arm was tucked slightly out of the way. Classical rock music played quietly in the background, providing some noise to keep the silence at bay.

Arrow was lying down nearby, away from the smell of ozone and solder resin. He sat up as they entered, pricking his ears forward as he watched them warily.

Another new robot sat next to the archer. It was a larger construct, approximately the same size as Dummy, but slightly wider at the base. There were several smaller, spider-like arms in the middle of the main chassis, moving around as they worked with something small and narrow. As they approached, Rhodey realized that the machine was attaching fletchings to an arrow shaft. He watched in fascination as the machine finished, gently placing the newly crafted arrow shaft into a canvas quiver. It let out a cheerful _bloop_ before reaching a grasper into a small hopper bin on its base to pull out a second set of materials.

Tony whistled sharply, catching the agent's attention. Barton merely nodded in acknowledgement and continued to focus on his work. Once he had finished, he spun around in his chair to face his visitors.

"Morning, Legolas!" the billionaire greeted, a smile growing on his face. "Ready to put your eagle-eyes to work?"

Barton snorted, fiddling with a small tool as he shrugged. "Not sure what I can do that you can't, but hey- why not? What've you got?"

"Jarvis, if you wouldn't mind?" Tony snapped his fingers and pointed with a flourish. A wire-frame hologram of the War-Machine suit appeared in the space between them in response, several small notations marking the Hammer Tech weapon installations.

Rhodey let out a small _hrmph_ in surprise. He had thought that Tony's workshop was the only one with a full holographic imaging station, but apparently that wasn't true anymore.

Barton stood up, focusing on the weapon mounts as he walked slowly around the hologram. "So, what's wrong with it?"

"The chain gun shoulder mount keeps shaking," Rhodey informed him, pulling out a small tablet with his own list of notes that Tony had told him to make the day before. "Our specialists are going nuts having to constantly re-align it."

"There's only so much you can tweak something before you mess it up permanently," the agent murmured quietly. At Tony and Rhodey's questioning looks, he shrugged lightly. "What? Old saying from a couple techs I know from the Navy. If it isn't broke, fix it 'til it is."

Rhodey nodded slowly. "_Right_. It's only a matter of time before the damn thing breaks permanently. I'm having some trouble with the auto-targeting on the fifty cals too- the aim keeps slipping to the left, even after we adjust it."

"The recoil from that high a caliber round's gotta be messing with the overall alignment. You may be rattling the sights loose," Barton advised, reaching out to one of the weapon mounts and spreading his fingers outwards to magnify the image. He pulled up several other sections, easily maneuvering through the schematics as he held his hand out to Rhodey.

The Colonel's eyebrows raised in appreciation as he passed over his tablet. He moved closer to Tony, who was making a slight adjustment to the strange arrow-making robot while Barton continued to take verbal notes with Jarvis's assistance. A shiny label plate designated the robot as FLETCH-A.

"So, what's this guy's deal?" Rhodey asked quietly, scratching a small itch on his arm. "These suits are kind of your babies. I never thought you'd willingly work with someone else on them, Tony."

The engineer smiled. "That was until I met _this_ guy. There are a lot of robotics specialists, engineers, and inventors that would be qualified to work on the Iron Man or War Machine suits, but there are an _extreme_ few that I would trust not to exploit it. You saw it happen with Justin Hammer. I heard it was like _Christmas_ when you showed him your suit."

"Yeah, but what exactly is his specialty?" Rhodey fixed his friend with a calculating stare. "He doesn't _look_ like your typical lab geek- more like Special Ops."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. "More like SHIELD super spy, assassin, or whatever they call him with some _really_ cool toys- one of the only ones in that gang of spooks that I actually _trust_. He's a Physics engineer with a Ballistics specialty. I verified the credentials myself, and his degree is fully legal."

The officer snorted. "And just what the hell is a Physics engineer with a Ballistics specialty?"

"It means," Barton cut in, moving to rejoin the other two men as he grinned, "I make things that go boom. Stark, you wanna take a look?"

They examined the diagrams as he pointed to several key stress points that he had highlighted. "You've got too much stress on the chassis here, here, and here. The percussion is throwing off the chambering mechanisms, and over time it's been hammering away at the braces on the shoulder mounts and brackets. One of the things we learned about Hammer modifications is that he tends to forget shock absorption. Fix that, and you should solve your alignment problem."

Tony whistled in appreciation. Clint had found three more fault points that he had missed himself on his initial scans, but he supposed that was due to the man's larger amount of practical experience with weaponry.

"Nice work, Legolas," the engineer praised, his hands moving quickly to save the notations to the schematic file. "Jarvis, take note of Agent Barton's corrections and forward it to Rhodey's maintenance team."

"_Very well, Sir."_

"Alright, now that we've got that settled, how about we work on the last thing on Rhodey's list?"

Barton arched an eyebrow as Tony presented a small box to him. Rhodey's eyes narrowed as the agent opened the lid and frowned at the small, missile-like object as he returned to his workbench for a small tool. "What the hell is this?"

"Hammer called it the 'Ex-Wife' or some nonsense like that," Tony replied, sighing with annoyance. "I swear, that man has no imagination. I mean, he couldn't come up with something bet- Clint, why are you laughing at the tiny missile?"

Barton had already disassembled the small missile, exposing the small circuit boards and explosive catalyst containers. "You gotta be shittin' me. Jarvis, bring up a couple of schematics for me, please? I need the Tankbuster and Explosive Tip version four-point two."

"_Certainly, Agent Barton."_

Rhodey snorted and looked back at Tony, raising an eyebrow at the lack of snark from the AI. A little politeness could go a long way. The engineer rolled his eyes.

The agent pulled out his cellphone and selected a number from speed-dial. "Hey, Coulson. I've got a birthday present for you. Yeah? I know, I _know_- but everyone loves presents, right? Fine, be that way. Though, you may want to change your mind since it has to do with Hammer."

There was a short pause, during which the agent smiled widely. "Yeah, Hammer. As in, about to sneak out of prison by way of a bribed parole hearing Hammer. What, you think I don't keep tabs on the guy? He tried to hurt friends of mine… of course I'm gonna do my civic duty and fuck his world up."

"_Barton, you are _not_ cleared for a hit on Hammer. We've gone over this!" _The two men winced as Clint held the phone away from his ear. Coulson's flustered shouts were met with a grin from the archer, who chuckled. Once Coulson's voice died down, he returned the phone to its normal position.

"Well, if you're done," Barton continued, "I was _about_ to tell you that I'm looking at potential evidence that a certain operation may not be quite as finished as we thought. Can you say, oh, charges of industrial espionage, possible possession of unlicensed explosives, and a whole shitload of civil court charges? Yeah, I thought you'd like that. I'll get you the details once I finish up here."

He hung up the phone, smiling. "You boys just made Coulson a _very_ happy man. I think he actually smiled."

"Do tell, buddy," Tony replied with his own grin, sitting on the rotating stool that Barton had vacated. "It sounds like you guys like dear old Justin about as much as I do."

"The guy's a dick," Barton said with a snort. "He has way too much faith in his own shit. All those contracts have gone to his head. Did you know that Ross _actually_ convinced the Defense committee to sign off on Hammer heading up the Hulkbuster project?"

"Sounds like you're pretty informed on military projects," Rhodey commented cautiously.

Barton waved the comment off with a dismissive gesture. "No big deal. There are a few things here and there I make it my business to keep an eye on. Ross just happens to be one of them."

"Anything I should know?" Rhodey asked. General Ross was known for getting involved in the Air Force's more… unusual projects, as well as his obsession with the Hulk.

"Classified," Barton informed him apologetically as he continued to tinker with the small missile. "Jarvis, can you take some scans and photographs of the circuit boards and catalyst chambers? Let's put it up with the schematics we've got pulled up and do a little comparison, shall we?"

Tony seemed to realize what the man was showing them as a feral grin crept across his face. "Oh. My. God. You guys honey-trapped him with shiny, pretty non-functional _hardware?_ Bravo!"

Barton smiled. "Operation Red Herring, or some shit like that. The op was probably, oh, I'd say about ten years ago, maybe? We were looking to break up a ring of information dealers that were selling technological designs to the highest bidder. They'd buy the plans off of some schmuck that wasn't happy with their job, then turn around and sell it to the bigwigs like Hammer, Stark, Cross, you know. The big guns."

"Ah, I can see where this is headed," Rhodey said with a snort of amusement. "I take it this was one of SHIELD's designs?"

"Not SHIELD's," the agent scoffed. He motioned to the schematic, which magnified the patent information labeled across the bottom. "It's _mine_. We had a couple agents that got pissed about something, I forget what, and they made off with the manufacturing schematics for my older explosive arrows that R and D used for fabrication. This wasn't one of the dummy designs we left out for them to steal, but hey- the end's the same, either way."

"Wanna borrow my patent lawyers? I have a whole _team_ dedicated to Hammer," Tony offered, a calculating look crossing his face. "I thought you didn't let SHIELD touch your stuff?"

"I uh, _may_ have exaggerated that part." Barton pulled up another set of diagrams- the manufacturing schematics, according to their label. "I don't have the equipment to mass produce the housings and some of the other major parts. The Research department does, so they fabricate most of the components and I complete the assembly when I've got downtime."

"And I'll bet you make sure they don't get the complete picture." Tony was smiling again, this time in appreciation. "You sneaky _bastard_."

The archer shrugged. "I'd prefer to think of it as protecting my innovations. That is what you inventor types call it, right?"

"No wonder it didn't work during that fight with Vanko. Damn thing's a dud. It flew, but didn't detonate," Rhodey muttered, shaking his head. "That little piece of crap was a prototype, I'm guessing. Good thing Tony picked it up."

The billionaire shrugged, reaching into one of the upper drawers in the workbench and pulling out a familiar silver packet of dried fruit. "Safety first. Ooh, pineapple!"

"He hangs out here a lot," Barton explained as Rhodey threw him a confused look. As he finished his sentence, another small design schematic appeared and merged with the rest of the design schematic, filling in a small section near the bottom.

"Son of a bitch," Tony crowed, tossing a small chunk of dried fruit at the nearby dog as he examined the completed design. "That idiot didn't even _look_ for a damn detonator! Whoever stole the schematics must have told him the design was complete, and Hammer fell for it. See, _this_ is why I don't like that guy!"

"Damn thing was never gonna work fully, was it?" The officer complained, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "That bastard told us they'd tested it thoroughly!"

"Hammer will do whatever it takes to try to compete with Stark, and he doesn't always make the wisest decisions in doing so. The guy will lie, cheat, steal… whatever it takes, because he doesn't have enough brainpower to do what Stark can," Barton explained as he put away the schematics. "The guy's a loose cannon."

Tony picked up from where his teammate left off. "Rhodey, I know you guys had to rely on that jerk when I was having my, uh, bad time…"

"You tried to blow up your own house, Tony."

"To be fair, I thought I was _dying-_"

"You told Pepper you added a filtration system to the suit and you had to take a piss."

"Uh, hello...dying! And I may have gotten a little _excessive_-"

Rhodey arched another eyebrow. "They found you nursing your hangover in the middle of a giant _donut_. Oh, and Pepper _told_ me about the art collection."

"_Ahem."_ The two friends halted their bickering at Jarvis's quiet admonishment. _"Sir, Agent Coulson has requested entry to the tower. There are two junior agents with him as adjutants, it would seem. Shall I deny them clearance?"_

Barton and Arrow were watching them with matched expressions of confusion and amusement. He looked down at his dog, who looked back up and whined. "I am _so_ hitting Natasha up for the full mission report."

"Nah, Let 'em in, Jay," Tony ordered. "Keep the kids under surveillance, and visitor access only. We'll go down and meet them shortly."

"_Very well, Sir."_

"So, Tony," Rhodey began, turning back to his friend. "I don't suppose I could ask you-"

"I'll take a look at the designs and see if I can come up with something that will work for you," Barton cut in quickly. Tony threw him a grateful look. "From your description, the rocket flies well. We just need to make it actually detonate, and with proper materials. There've been some strides made in explosive materials, so we can probably give it a little more punch than the original."

Rhodey nodded in thanks, smiling as Tony herded him out of the shop. The billionaire stopped short of the door and jogged back to retrieve his fruit packet. "Thanks, Clint. I really appreciate you taking a look. And helping with Rhodey's ex."

Clint shrugged again, returning to his seat and pulling the magnifier back towards him. "No problem, man. It won't take much to modify one of the explosive arrow builds to fit a rocket. And besides, it's about sharing what we have with the people most important... gotta have the right tools for the job, like you said."

Tony gave him a genuine smile of gratitude as he briskly left the lab to rejoin Rhodey. "C'mon buddy- time to go mess with the baby agents!"

* * *

_SHIELD Remote Briefing Facility, two days later…_

"I'm telling you, that woman's got _no_ bedside manner at all," Oyuki complained as they exited the building. "She's like a… a… I don't know how to describe it."

"Sounds like low tolerance for bullshit," Chavez replied sagely. "I just can't believe they placed Romanoff as a _nurse_ for this thing."

"God, if I have to change another bedpan…" the explosives expert moaned, his head tilting back in exasperation. "This was _so_ not in my contract!"

The two Minions continued to match notes as they walked towards the subway, heading back towards the barracks building. Street vendors barked their wares at the passing pedestrians nearby as the aroma from a nearby restaurant began to make Chavez's stomach growl. They turned into a familiar alley, taking a shortcut to escape the temptations.

"So, Alonzo,"Oyuki continued, dodging a splash as a cat darted out from behind a trash can. "Have you opened the letter yet?"

Chavez shook his head. His friend was referring to a letter that had arrived earlier that week, forwarded from his old address at Leavenworth. The return address was from a naval base in Italy, where his younger brother was stationed.

He still couldn't believe it; after all the time he and several of his forebearers had spent in the Corps, Carlos had to go and break tradition. Not that he had anything against the swabbies, but, come on… the _Navy?_

"Not yet, bro," Chavez told Carl after several minutes of silence. He took a hesitant breath. "After what my Mamá told me the last time we spoke, I'm a little afraid to open it, I guess."

"C'mon, man- that kid _worships_ you!"

The team leader shook his head. "It's been years, Carl. Who knows what she's told him by now?"

"You won't know until you find out," Oyuki chided. He hadn't thought his friend and leader could be fazed by anything, much less a little ink and paper. "I'm tellin' ya-"

Chavez signaled to the other man as his senses picked up something that wasn't right. As Oyuki quieted down, he glanced down to the pavement, catching a flash from behind them in a nearby puddle. Taking note of the position in the water's reflection, he spun around, reaching in his jacket for his sidearm.

Dodging behind a trash can, he caught sight of a shattered dart, its contents spilt on the ground. He swore. Flicking the safety off, he spun back around in time to hear a loud, familiar _zort_, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Oyuki and Chavez gaped at each other and looked back at the unexpected sight of Reagan standing over a prone man, grinning and holding his ever-present taser. The balding tech kicked a dart gun away from the man, who was beginning to stir.

Chavez's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wow. That makes things easier, I guess."

* * *

Agent Sitwell's interrogation of one Arthur Dougherty, the newest thug hired by Delaney after a call from Stroscyk asking for "backup," finally yielded a location for their mad bomber. It hadn't taken much to break the weak-willed man, merely the implication of bodily harm and several other standard threats.

The route that Oyuki and Chavez had been traveling for several days to and from the Remote Briefing building had taken several twists and turns that provided ample opportunity for someone to make a grab, and the two had presented multiple chances for Dougherty to make a move.

In other parts of the city, other teams were making similar opportunities in order to lure the kidnapper into a false sense of confidence, after several profiles were leaked to the right sources. It seemed that Delaney had several hackers and information brokers on his payroll, using them to track down what he thought were easy targets.

It was by sheer luck that Dougherty had picked their route to set up an ambush.

The next day found a SHIELD tactical team taking flight to Tennessee, where Delaney was supposedly waiting.

Chavez had been ordered to stay behind; Sitwell had reminded him of the Asgardian language lesson plan that was due, which caused the younger man to groan. Reagan was needed on a new project in R&D, and the Twins were still cleaning tropical bird feathers out of the ventilation system.

That left Oyuki to accompany the tactical team, who had requested a disposal expert in the event the man had materials in his new hideout. He joined the waiting team, nodding at a second bomb tech, who would be the team's dog handler. Carl was glad that Sitwell was letting him tag along; it was his initial investigation, after all, and he wanted to see it through.

Their team leader was currently organizing the raid with Sitwell, who would be their tactical support agent. Thankfully, most of the team had worked with the field agent, and had no problem taking orders from him.

"Got a sniper lined up for us, sir?" Agent Myers asked, trying to work out his team positioning. A topographic map lay on the table next to a set of satellite photographs. "I'd like Barton if he's available."

"No can do," Sitwell replied with a shake of his head. "He's on stand down. No tactical deployments for a week, according to Fury. You can have Taylor though- she's back on rotation after that rotator cuff injury."

The veteran agent nodded. "Gotcha, sir. That just leaves our entry team, which I believe should be going in here…"

* * *

_Later that evening, Tennessee mountains…_

Edward Delaney began pouring the first catalyst into a hastily-assembled bucket and pulley system. This would be the first part of his newest trap, which would be set in motion once his hired help brought in the most recent catch. Yet another supposed "expert" would have to work their way out of his diabolical device.

He loved the sound of the word- diabolical. The chemist had nearly cackled with glee when Stroscyk had called in, reporting he had found the tech that had disassembled his last creation. That was supposed to be a masterpiece, and to have some upstart ruin his fun was intolerable.

Stroscyk had located the man, Carl Oyuki of the US Army, by Facebook no less. Another call to his pet hacker had the man's personnel file in his inbox, as well as his workplace and habits, and it was a simple matter to hire a second thug to play backup.

Reaching for a bottle of kerosene, he paused as he noticed something out of place. He stood, walking over to the window to examine the small cardboard sign sitting on the windowsill.

_Surprise._

Delaney frowned, spotting the red laser dot centered on his chest and slowly rising upwards. As he looked upwards, he had one last thought as a bullet slammed into his forehead. _Surprise indeed._


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

- Made a couple edits from the previous chapter upload after I had to tweak it a little.

* * *

_Columbus, Georgia…_

Colonel Nick Fulco wasn't expecting any visitors when he returned home, especially since his wife was out of town visiting their daughter-in-law and the grandchildren. That didn't change the fact that Clint Barton was sitting on his back porch next to an unknown man, each with a cold beer and a half-eaten pie. There was half of a six-pack in a small ice-chest, along with another set of empty bottles. It appeared as if there had been an all-nighter on his back porch.

The agent smiled as he beckoned to Fulco's favorite chair. A partially filled beer sat on the table as well as a half-filled plate, with crumbs strewn in several locations. He sank into the chair, watching his visitors in confusion.

Barton was smiling in a satisfied manner that the officer remembered usually led to something getting blown to hell or led some unfortunate soul into therapy. The other man, a curly-haired, mousy looking man shrugged apologetically from his seat on the padded storage bench.

The large German Shepherd he had seen accompanying Barton laid at the agent's feet, watching him. A nearly empty plastic dish with some pie remnants sat near the dog's head.

"Welcome back, Sergeant," he greeted cautiously. "I hadn't expected anyone to stop by."

The agent shrugged. "We just happened to be in the neighborhood. Fury wanted me to look in on some prospects, so I thought I'd stop by and get your opinion before I sent my recommendations back up to SHIELD."

Fulco nodded slowly. "I'm glad that Charlene thought to bake a pie, then. I recall how much you used to enjoy the pecans we grow here locally."

They sat in awkward silence for nearly an hour until they heard a heavy set of footsteps climbing the stairs leading to the porch. Shortly, the second set of visitors arrived, prompting the lounging dog to sit up in a more attentive pose.

"Good morning, Nick," Director Fury greeted, nodding to the seated men. He was flanked by one of his suited agents, as well as a pair of men dressed in tactical gear. He glared at Barton and the unknown man. "Gentlemen, you're a long way from New York."

Barton's eyes widened comically as he put his beer down. "Uh oh. _Busted_."

"Hello, Nick," Fulco replied, returning Fury's nod. "Would you care for a slice? If I'd known I was going to have more company, I would have broken out the barbecue."

"Colonel, I'll be out of your hair in a bit- I just needed to check up on one of my men here," Fury finally said, staring at Barton in particular. "Care to explain what you're doing here?"

"Weren't _you_ the one who ordered me to come by to check out the latest talent?" Barton replied cheekily, grinning at his employer as he motioned with the beer bottle. "You didn't specify _when_ I had to drive down. I just figured, the weather was nice, and all-"

"Stow it, Barton," the Director ordered. "That doesn't explain why Dr. Banner is with you. Last time, I heard he was fairly allergic to military facilities."

"I'm enjoying my pie zen," Banner replied quietly before taking a bite of the pie, moving his legs into a lotus position as his expression grew serene. He closed his eyes and appeared to fall into a quiet, relaxing meditation. "The pecans here are _amazing_."

Fury arched an eyebrow.

"Aw, Boss, don't be like that-" Barton started, before a motion from his commander cut him off.

The Director looked back at the agent and officer, watching them with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Either of you want to explain where you were last night, around eleven o'clock?"

Fulco smiled at him. "Why, Director, these gentlemen have been here all night. Well, Dr. Banner here joined us this morning after spending the night in my guest room, but the Sergeant and I have been catching up on some history."

"All night," Fury repeated. He glanced at the suited agent, who pulled a tablet out of his jacket. "And I suppose your security system will show exactly that?"

Fulco shrugged. "Your agent is welcome to examine it."

Director Fury smiled, gesturing to the agent, who began pressing buttons on the tablet. "Colonel, it would appear that your son's killer has been, shall we say, eliminated?"

"Such a shame," the Colonel deadpanned, taking a drink of his beer afterwards. "I can't think of a more deserving person."

"Do we have your permission to search the premises for any _familiar_ firearms?" Fury snorted, ignoring Barton's look of innocence as his dog let out a belch. "That fifty-cal you signed out on your last mission hasn't been returned to the armory yet, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye shrugged nonchalantly as Fulco nodded his approval to Fury, allowing the agents to enter the house. "I'll get around to it. R and D still haven't returned my schematics yet, either, and I asked for those two days ago."

One of the agents in tactical gear stopped at the storage locker that Dr. Banner was perched on, approaching nervously.

"You're disturbing my pie zen," Banner said softly, his eyebrows lowering as he took on an annoyed expression.

Barton smirked at the young agent, who began to back away nervously. The archer began to chuckle. "Be careful kid. You don't wanna make him angry, do you?"

Colonel Fulco watched in amusement as the young agent looked at his Director, who rolled his eyes in annoyance. He raised an eyebrow of his own as the other agents exited the house, shaking their heads at their boss. "Everything is in order, I trust?"

Fury nodded. He motioned for the other agents to leave, and gave the men a pointed look. "It checks out, as I expected it would. You do understand, Nick? With everything going on lately, and the Council keeping a close eye on things, we have to be careful. They frown highly on unsanctioned terminations."

"Understood."

"Clint, Dr. Banner, I'll see you both back at Headquarters or Stark Tower, whichever comes first," the one-eyed Director replied with finality. "Enjoy your stay."

As the man exited, Fulco let out a sigh of relief. "Well, now that _that_ is over, I think I could use a drink."

Barton chuckled, as did the other man, Dr. Banner. The former sergeant sat up in his chair. "Well, sir, I think it's time we had a proper introduction. Colonel Nick Fulco, this is Dr. Bruce Banner."

The studious looking man held a hand out, which the Colonel shook. He smiled nervously. "Sorry to drop in on you unannounced, Colonel. I think I was just as surprised as you were, to be frank."

"Don't you worry, Dr. Banner. Your visit couldn't have come at a better time. Sergeant," he added, fixing Barton with a steady gaze. "It sounds like you've already taken certain liberties with my security system."

The archer gave him an innocent grin. "Now, what sort of agent would I be if I couldn't set up a simple video loop recording?"

"Indeed," the Colonel responded dryly.

The archer's gaze swung back to Banner. "And _you_, Doc. _Pie zen?_"

"Oh, come on- it's not like you gave me any better instructions other than 'Oh, quick, Bruce- play along!'" the other man admonished. "I improvised."

"True," Barton drawled happily.

Banner sighed, tossing his napkin at his companion. "There's a reason I stick to Physics and not espionage."

"Well, that was _quite_ the performance," Fulco chided. "You haven't lost your touch, Sergeant, though you may want to stick to bow and arrow tricks. I half expected you to juggle to distract the good Director."

Banner's eyes lit up in amusement. "Juggle?"

"Oh, Barton here was quite the sideshow act. Didn't he tell you?" Fulco chuckled. He laughed heartily at the agent's slightly panicked expression. "He used to be a carnival performer. Trick-shooting, knife-throwing, that sort of thing, am I correct?"

Barton glared at Banner. "If Stark _ever_ finds out, they'll never find your body."

The physicist gulped, giving his teammate a weak smile.

"Anyway, back to the meat and potatoes of why we're really here," Barton replied, trying to change the subject. "Dr. Banner here is in a need of assistance."

"And what, pray tell, may I be able to help you with that the likes of Tony Stark, SHIELD, and various other persons that I've been told you're working with, cannot?" Fulco wasn't sure what they wanted from a retired soldier.

"I'm sure you're aware of Dr. Banner's accident and the repercussions," Barton replied, putting on his "game face," as many of his other operatives had developed.

Fulco nodded. There wasn't a single officer in the upper echelons who _didn't_ know about the circumstances that had created the Hulk, though it had been made clear by General Ross that the green creature was _his_ territory.

The SHIELD agent nodded, pulling out a smartphone and tapping several times on the screen before passing it over to Fulco. There was a picture displayed of a young, attractive woman with dark hair and a gentle smile.

"That appears to be General Ross's daughter, Betty," the Colonel observed dryly. "A rather independent young woman kept on a very tight leash."

"Betty and the Doc here are, or at least were, an item," Barton explained, taking his phone back. "Her dad's got her under some surveillance with a pretty hefty security detail. We're talking almost complete isolation, sir. Bruce just wants to make sure she's okay."

The physicist's head hung as he took a deep breath. "I love her, Colonel. I just want… I _need_ to know that she's okay. That she's _safe_, even if she's on some sort of questionably legal lockdown."

The Colonel looked at the curly-haired physicist apologetically. "Son, while you have my sympathies, there's not a whole lot that I can do. Your lady friend works in a field that I have no access or visibility to, so there's not much chance for me to pass any messages along."

"That's quite alright, Colonel," Banner replied, his folded hands fidgeting slightly, "I understand. Agent Barton here didn't really explain much about why he brought me here to meet you, since I get the feeling he knew what you were going to say."

"The fact is, sir," Barton said, staring his former commanding officer in the eye, "I felt that at least someone with the balls to tell Ross where he can shove his ego deserved to know that while the Hulk is admittedly a rogue force to be reckoned with, he's also a human being. Ross isn't telling anyone anything but _his_ side of the story."

Letting out a sigh, the Colonel set his drink down as he looked into Banner's eyes. "General Ross once cost me half a squadron of men, my three best sergeants and some of the most talented squad leaders to come out of the Rangers in forty years. Forty good men- _trained operators_, all gone."

He folded his hands and settled deeper into his chair. "Alright, son. Tell me about yourself. Before I pass my own judgment on the matter, I'll at least hear you out."

* * *

"I'm not sure what that was all about," Bruce commented as they returned to the vehicle. "He seems like a nice enough guy, though."

"Allies, Doc. Allies and contacts," Clint replied, placing his sunglasses on his face as he tossed the physicist his keys. "You're driving."

"Oh, uh… right," the other man said dryly, fumbling to catch the keyring.

The archer grinned. "Dog's in no shape, that's for sure. Lightweight."

Arrow trotted haphazardly along his left side, yipping at them amiably. Clint shook his head. He didn't give beer to his dog often, and it didn't take much leave the dog in a much happier mood than he usually was.

"So, that's your former CO?" Banner asked as they got into the car.

Clint nodded, turning his head to watch the passing trees as Bruce began to drive. "Taught me to be a soldier. He taught me about duty, loyalty, and all that other crap. I was a pretty screwed up kid, but he, uh, helped me turn things around. Gave me a role model, I guess you could say."

"He does have a certain… presence?"

"Yeah, that's a good word for it," the archer replied with a snort. "The thing is, you're never gonna get Ross off your back without having help from guys like the Colonel. General Ross isn't the only one with connections, Bruce, and now the Colonel owes you a favor."

"Doesn't the General outrank him though?" Bruce asked curiously, frowning at a passing car as they pulled out onto the highway.

"Different branch, for one, I'll admit," Clint recounted, tilting his head as he thought about it. "Colonel Fulco retired from Delta Force, and Delta's a whole other story. You don't get that far up the chain without making contacts and allies in the right places."

The physicist's brow furrowed slightly. "If he's that good, why is he still a Colonel?"

"He likes being in the field. Get too high in the ranks, and they sit your ass behind a desk to run things from a safe distance unless the shit hits the fan. Ross is an exception, though. I can't say I disagree with the Colonel- he's a better field commander than an administrator," the archer replied with a shrug.

"Do you think he can help deal with General Ross?"

Clint turned his head to Bruce and smirked. "He eats upper level brass for breakfast. Ross is scared shitless of him."

"Ah," Bruce responded, unsure of what else to say. Another thought finally pieced itself together, and he stared at his companion, stricken. "Did… did we just help cover up a murder?"

"Nah," the archer replied, a thoughtful look on his face. "I like to think of it as pest control."

* * *

_Manhattan, New York City, the next day…_

"To Tommy Fulco. A good man, good soldier, and a damn good poker player," Oyuki announced, holding up a glass to the rest of his team. "May he rest in peace."

The others Minions raised their glasses, honoring their friend's toast. They had decided to meet up in their favorite pub after hearing the news from the tactical team after they had located Delaney's hideout. The bomb tech had been angry that he hadn't been able to help capture the man, but he wasn't going to complain about Delaney's fate, either. It was one less madman on the loose.

Chavez thought again about how much time had passed. The team had been through some crazy shit together, and he was glad to have all four of them by his side.

Steve Rogers, their guest after they thought he could use a night out of the house, raised his glass as well. He smiled at his companions. "You guys realize it's been a year?"

They nodded, recalling the anniversary of their recruitment. Chavez steeled his expression, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "Guys… Boss is here."

Hawkeye made his way through the crowd, with Jasper Sitwell following behind.

Reagan held his arms out in greeting. "Ya made it!"

The veteran agents smiled, signaling for their usuals. Sitwell moved to stand next to his team. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Good evening, Captain Rogers."

"It's just Steve, please. We're all off duty," Steve corrected with a chuckle. "The guys thought I needed to get out more."

The Minions grinned mischievously. Chavez sat back on his barstool and turned to the newcomers. "We were just raising a glass to the fallen, sir."

"I see," Barton drawled. He seemed to focus inward as he stared at the ground. Finding what he was looking for, the archer picked up his glass of what looked like some sort of fizzy cola. "Considering the present company, well, here goes. To Kripchek, Delacour, and Sorenson."

Sitwell and Steve gave him a confused look, while Strike Team Mike's faces fell.

Chavez cleared his throat. "To Kripchek, Delacour, and Sorenson. Guys, we're sorry you missed out on the chance to turn things around. I'm sorry you didn't get your second chances like we did."

The team finished their toast, recognizing the fallen crew membrs from the carrier attack as well. They hadn't known the crew of the carrier at the time, therefore couldn't recognize them all by name.

"I don't understand," Steve said, looking at Barton and Sitwell. "Who are the first three?"

Thinking about their deceased teammates, Chavez regretted that they hadn't made it out of the attack alive. They would have been good additions to Strike Team Mike.

Kripchek, the cat-crazy gun nut who could maintain, fire, and repair just about any weapon, had been tossed out of the damaged engine bay by Rogers. Delacour, a rifleman who talked about sending his parents to France on vacation, and Sorenson- a cowboy from Montana. Both Delacour and Sorenson had been taken out on the bridge by Fury and Hill.

"Fallen Minions," one of the Twins informed him sadly. "They were good guys."

Barton shrugged. "All of them were. Are. You know what I mean. I picked the best I could find for the raid on the carrier, Rogers. It's like everyone keeps telling me- I resisted in some capacity, considering I didn't recruit a bunch of incompetents for _that_ job. All of those guys were still good people, deep down. They trusted me enough to not ask where or why we were going, which beats the hell out of me."

"Good people do bad things sometimes," Sitwell added, patting Hawkeye on the shoulder and ignoring the archer's glare in response. "It all worked out for the best."

Steve was counting fingers. "On the bridge. I watched the security footage of the attack. Three got shot, not two."

"Yeah," a Twin grumbled. "Fury shot Jed. He'd a been toast if he hadn't remembered his vest."

"One-eyed bilge rat," the other Twin, Jed, mumbled under his breath.

Their team handler sank down onto a barstool, his palm over his face. "Oh, God. That explains _so_ much."

Reagan smiled widely. "A toast, to Kevlar!"

"Amen," Chavez replied, shaking his head and chuckling.

Oyuki elbowed him gently. "So sayeth the guy who actually sent flowers to Stephanie Kwolek."

At Steve's confused look, Sitwell tapped his own shirt, which was worn over one of the aforementioned vests. "The woman who invented Kevlar."

The rest were just about to ask for elaboration when an obnoxious voice rose over the music. "_You!_ I'm not done with you yet!"

"Oh, hey look- it's Lurch!" Oyuki called, waving at the commotion. "He's coming back for round two, guys!"

Lunging in their direction was a large, bulky man with spiked hair and several tribal tattoos on his scalp. Chavez's eyes narrowed as he recognized the angry biker who had attacked Oyuki several months ago and caused them to spend a night in lockup. This time, the punk had brought friends.

Sitwell and Barton seemed to vanish into the now hostile crowd, leaving Steve to handle the mess. As the strike team jumped eagerly into the growing melee, the supersoldier's head fell into his hands. "Sitwell? Barton? Oh, you gotta be _kidding_ me!"


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Research & Development Building…_

A loud _whump_ emanated from Ballistics Lab Three, followed by the sound of giggling and laughter. Several shouts of annoyance followed by a supervisor barking orders had the researchers scurrying for mops and safety equipment.

Nick Fury sighed again, stopping at the doorway as a cloud of pink smoke drifted outwards. Looking down, he gave the researcher lying prone in front of him a hard stare. Coulson fell into place next to him, whistling at the sight. "Report."

As the young tech stammered, trying to find an explanation, the area supervisor charged up. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Uh," the tech stuttered, pointing weakly into the lab. Several sparks flew up as if on cue.

Three sets of eyes peered up over the table. A familiar voice made Fury want to run a palm over his face. "Too much hydrogen, buddy."

The Director turned a piercing gaze on the Research Supervisor. "And just _whose_ bright idea was it to let Barton, Reagan and _Stark _of all people in one of my research labs unsupervised?"

Several Ops personnel and a medic team finally arrived, wincing at the mess and moving in to check for any injuries.

"But Nick, we were told by the nice young man over there that this lab wasn't being used," Tony Stark complained, standing up with the other culprits and dusting himself off. "We were just playing around with one of Legolas' new compounds – "

"Y-y-you mean they _weren't_ allowed in here?" the young tech squeaked. "But they said – "

The supervisor sighed. "Freaking Ops games. Bill, did you even _read_ the security briefing when they let you out of the Training Center?"

"I ah, may have glanced though it, sir," Bill replied half-heartedly. "I missed something?"

"SHIELD Safety Protocol One-five-six point two. Stark and Barton are never allowed in any of the labs without Dr. Banner, a Research Supervisor, or a member of senior Ops personnel present," Coulson advised him pointedly. "I think you missed a line or two, Agent."

The supervisor helped the confused young man up to his feet. The tech looked at his supervisor and back at Barton, who waved cheerfully. "B-but he's part of the research department, isn't he? I mean, I know Reagan's technically Ops, but…"

"Appearances can be _deceiving_, young man," Fury growled. "If you, and I'm assuming your classmates, based on what I've heard had bothered to _pay attention_ to Agent Maxwell's Situational Awareness class, you may have noticed a few things. A prime example: a senior field operative and unauthorized visitors playing around with _explosive chemicals_."

The supervisor huffed, grabbing poor Bill by the arm and dragging him away. "You and I are going to have a serious _chat_…"

"Ow… Ow, Nat! Not so rough – " Barton's voice complained loudly from his right.

"Oh, stow it, Clint. You're _not_ blowing yourself up again without a medical check…"

Fury snorted, then smirked at the sight of Agent Romanoff dragging Agent Barton out of the lab by his ear. The young woman was dressed in scrubs, and appeared to have accompanied the medical team. Stark wandered up to him while Reagan made a hasty retreat with the rest of the medics.

The billionaire watched Natasha's exit, giving her an appreciative stare. He looked back at Fury. "If I didn't know she could kill me with her pinky… "

Fury rolled his eye, glaring back at his unexpected visitor. "Just what the hell was so important that you felt the need to invade my Headquarters? I thought you had your own test labs."

"Yeah," Stark agreed, "I do, however that doesn't change the fact that Clint was told that he _had_ to be here, or _else_, by some low-level schmuck in a suit named Franklin. No offense, Agent."

"None taken," Coulson replied dryly.

Stark turned back to Fury. "Anyway, we were in the middle of a little project, and he was already pissed about finding out that Hammer got a hold of his schematics, and R and D here won't give them back – "

"Wait a minute," the Director interrupted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Barton's research material that the Research Department used to fabricate his ammunition supplies," Coulson informed the Director, pulling up a memo on his phone and showing it to him. "It was in the memo sent several days ago. He requested that all schematics be returned to him after Mr. Stark here helped reveal that some of the designs were stolen, but R and D has been dragging their heels about it."

"So that's why Franklin's been spamming my inbox?" Fury groused. He handed the device back to the other agent. "Remind me to send him a note, considering we discussed this three days ago. I want _all_ of Barton's files returned to him, and get Reagan to clear the servers of any leftovers."

"I could – " Stark started to offer, until a hand from Fury halted him.

"I don't want you anywhere near my servers, Stark. No offense, but we can take care of this ourselves," Fury told him firmly. He nodded to Coulson. "Can you please see to Mr. Stark?"

"Sure, Boss," Coulson agreed, beckoning for Stark to follow him. "There're a couple things the Director wanted to address anyway. This way, please."

They returned to Coulson's office, where Stark sat down in the indicated chair while Coulson shut his door. The agent sat down in his chair, pulling up his tablet to locate several documents. They both ignored the Captain America bobble-head doll sitting on his desk while the agent quickly tucked a prescription bottle into a drawer and pulled out a tablet.

Coulson handed the device over to Stark, who accepted it with interest. "I've put together some requisition forms for Barton to use since he's no longer taking advantage of our fabrication facilities. I understand you've offered to fund his work and even provided a lab, but SHIELD is fully ready to reimburse Stark Industries for anything used on SHIELD business."

The agent pulled up another form. "Any additional research we ask to have visibility on at Agent Barton's discretion, seeing as some of the innovations he's created are useful in the field for our other agents and strike teams. Barton has been working on some rather _unique_ items lately, and the Director would prefer that his findings stay safe."

Stark took approximately fifteen minutes to read through the forms, finally nodding and handing the tablet back to the agent. "Everything seems to be in order, though I'll be forwarding a copy to Legal, of course."

"Of course," Coulson replied.

The inventor shifted in his chair, then gave Coulson a calculating stare. "You seem awfully eager to endorse Clint's distancing himself from SHIELD, Agent. You're not still sore over the Loki thing, are you?"

"Not in the slightest." Coulson leaned back, letting out a long breath. "I have no issues with Agent Barton. I however, am not the one to worry about. While there are a few rogue elements that still take the whole event to heart, for the most part we're professionals here. If you haven't noticed, the Ops crew tends to circle the wagons when needed. There are others, in other departments however, that don't share that sentiment. Not many, but enough that I consider it a concern."

Tony thought about the small hints he had picked up during the last year. Agent Hartwell's defense of Chavez when Thor tried to squish him with his hammer. The rapid mobilization when they had been kidnapped by Tuller. Agent Sitwell's Operation Gremlin.

The agent seemed to read his mind and smiled. "We take care of our own, Stark."

Smiling, the billionaire typed rapidly, sending the document packet to Pepper's secure email.

"One thing I must say," Coulson continued, putting the tablet back into his drawer and relaxing in his chair. He pulled out a pair of manila folders, sliding them across the table. "I hadn't expected you to hold out this long."

Tony's eyebrow arched as he reached out and pulled the files closer. "What are these?"

"Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff's secondary personnel files. There are still a few things left that are Eyes Only for Level Seven and above personnel, but this is as close to it gets to the complete picture."

"And you're trusting me to read this?"

Coulson's face turned serious. "You've been living together for some time now without killing or maiming each other, and more importantly, you didn't hack their files. That told us a lot about your willingness to make things work and your respect for their privacy. Barton and Romanoff have given me permission to show these to you. You've earned it, Tony."

Tony _humphed_ quietly, opening Natasha's file and taking several minutes to read the thick stack of papers. He was only a consultant, and the idea that two super-agents trusted him to read into their life's story made his heart skip a beat. All those months of tamping down his urges to hack their files had apparently paid off.

He read quietly, taking in the mission reports, medical documents and other extra bulk paperwork that came with bureaucratic organizations. Almost everything was there; Hawkeye's impromptu "recruitment" of the Black Widow, her mission success rate, even the infamous Budapest mission.

Setting her folder aside after he had taken in what details he could, Tony reached for Barton's folder and opened it to begin learning about his occasional partner in crime. Several things stood out, such as his military record and several security warning memos.

Sergeant Clint Francis Barton, if the paperwork was correct. Most of the military record was blacked out, with the exception of the standard service record profile and a sheet listing several combat awards.

"Francis. His middle name is _Francis_," Tony snickered. He looked up at Coulson skeptically as he read one of the security memos. "Seriously? There's a restriction on _Mythbusters_ here? Hell, half of the _good_ shows on cable are on a restricted list!"

"I coded it into Jarvis myself," the agent replied with a resigned sigh. "Thank God he doesn't watch much TV outside of certain eighties re-runs, westerns and the Food Network. You've seen what happened today. We don't like to encourage him to casually experiment."

"Yet he gets ordered to work in the Research Department for the next week or so. Is this part of your weird 'pretend I'm not the badass I really am' game?"

Coulson smiled. "You're perceptive as usual. It's a game we occasionally play when a new recruit class graduates, and the game varies based on their deficiencies. In this case, the class was sorely lacking on observation skills, so we're putting them to the test again. The key Ops personnel have been relocated to some of the more innocuous roles to see if the rookies notice anything out of place and report it."

"That sounds confusing," Tony replied, chuckling at one of the incident reports in Barton's file. He would have to remember to tease him about the Coffee Pot Incident.

The agent shrugged. "It actually works great for pointing out security holes. As you saw today, the new lab tech caused a major security breach."

Tony's eyes lit up, and he slapped a hand over his heart. "Aww, you mean it? I'm a major breach? You flatter me, Agent."

Coulson rolled his eyes.

The billionaire frowned as he pulled up the Personal Information sheet. He looked at the agent quickly, holding up the sheet. "Wait. Is this real?"

"It's real."

"He's a widower?" Tony fell back in his chair as if struck. "I feel like such an _ass_."

"How so?"

The inventor sighed, running his hands over his face. "I cracked a joke that _may_ or may not have involved mention of an ex-wife. He just went blank and walked out of the room."

"That explains why Natasha gave you the black eye," Coulson said, nodding slowly in realization. "We thought you had insulted her cooking."

"Oh, God. I didn't even know – "

"Stark. _Tony_," the agent prompted, catching Tony's attention. "That joke is why they decided to share the information. Half of Pepper's Rules are to avoid awkward situations or PTSD triggers, and Natasha had specifically left off a rule about you hacking their files because she expected you to do it anyway."

"You mean I had free reign to hack away?"

Coulson nodded. "They knew better than to try to stop you. The fact that you didn't, though, spoke volumes. Natasha asked for privacy, and you gave it to them. You can be an ass on a regular basis, but you're not cruel enough to speak ill of a man's deceased family."

"Oh, come on, I poke a stick at Rogers all the time," Tony tried to argue.

The agent snorted. "You make fun of _him_. Not his comrades, not his old girlfriend. Just _him_."

"You're gonna make me blush, Agent."

"Shut up, Stark."

Tony pulled another set of papers out of the stack, including a page with four identification photographs. "Is this his family?"

Coulson nodded sadly. "Director Fury was his children's godfather, and he took it _very_ personally when Clint's family was assassinated. He and Barton are actually very good friends."

"They hide it well."

"Director Fury has a lot of enemies, as does Barton. The Council has always had their… _concerns_ about Agent Barton, long before Loki. Let's just say he came under SHIELD's jurisdiction in as questionable a manner as Agent Romanoff," the veteran agent explained. "If the bigwigs thought he was showing Clint any favoritism, it would make it that much harder for both of them to do their jobs without Council interference."

* * *

_SHIELD Remote Briefing Facility…_

Chavez put the finishing touches on his lesson plan and tucked it away in a folder to hand in to Sitwell. The older agent had advised him that this was just one stepping stone on the road to becoming a senior agent. Every senior operative was required to teach in some capacity, if only to show some variety in leadership skills.

Tucking the folder under his arm, he smiled as he headed towards the door. As he rounded the corner, the bumped into a larger, stocky man dressed in a tactical uniform. The folders fell to the ground, along with the other man's clipboard.

"Oh, sorry about that, man," Chavez apologized, squatting down to pick up the documents.

The agent snatched his papers and clipboard from the Minion leader, frowning at him in annoyance. "Watch where you're going, geek."

Chavez was taken aback. Geek? He looked down at his suit, then back at the agent and shrugged. "Hey, no need to get nasty – "

The agent stepped into his personal space, glaring at him as if challenging him. "Do you _realize_ who you're dealing with, you freakin' pencil pusher? I could kick your – "

"Jesus, what are you? Twelve?" Chavez snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You're not in high school anymore."

"_Prescott!_" A familiar voice snapped. "Get your ass to Agent Creek's office. _Yesterday_."

Chavez shot his friend, Regis, a grateful look as the other man approached. "Thanks, man. That guy… "

Regis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry about him. He and a few others just got out of the Training Center, and some of the other security guys have got 'em all wound up. You remember what those guys were like."

"No big deal. I'd just hate to have to put him on his ass so soon out of the gate, you know?"

"That asshat could probably use it. He's picked fights with a _bunch_ of Ops guys, trying to throw his weight around. That hasn't worked out so well for 'im, so he's working on the non-combat personnel. Namely, analysts and researchers. The guy's a damn bully," Regis replied with a snort of annoyance.

Chavez wondered if his friend had been one of the Ops members challenged by Prescott. Robert Regis was an average, unassuming man with dirty blonde hair and a bright smile. Few people knew of his history as an Air Force Pararescue Commando, one of the toughest Special Ops troops to be found. Nobody messes with the "PJ's."

"How is that guy even working for SHIELD? I mean, I know some of the guys can be a bit juvenile, but c'mon…" the team leader complained. "He's gonna pick a fight with the wrong person."

Regis shrugged. "Well, someone, namely _you_, recommended that we pick up some people with heavy weapons experience for some special project, or so Creek says. Prescott's an asshole, but he's damn good with a BMG. What he really needs is an attitude adjustment, though."

"_Dude_," Chavez drawled, looking at his friend with wide eyes. He gave Regis a mischievous grin. "The Boss is working the research labs this week, from what Reagan said."

"You're joking." Regis's eyes brightened as he leaned in conspiratorially. "The boys and I may need to recommend that the team go in for a, ah, _weapons check_."

"Ballistics Lab Three. Reagan's acting as his 'assistant.' Oh, and according to rumors, Romanoff's working on the Medical Response crew."

"You are _evil_," Regis accused. He smiled and winked at Chavez. "I like it."

"Prescott'll be fine as long as he doesn't do something stupid. Oh yeah," the Minion leader recalled, smiling and patting his friend on the shoulder. "Congrats on the promotion, by the way."

"Thanks!" Regis replied happily. He had worked hard to get assigned to one of the Strike Teams. Chavez was looking at the newest member of Strike Team Echo, who were also based out of the New York City Headquarters building. The recent attack that Team Mike had helped fend off had allowed Fury to justify stationing another team there for security reasons.

Neither of the men commented about the other recent graduate they had spotted, who watched them with suspicion. The young rookie scurried away when they turned to look at him. Looking back at each other, they smiled. At least _someone_ was paying attention.

* * *

_SHIELD Research & Development Building…_

Jasper Sitwell sank into the cafeteria chair and closed his eyes tiredly, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He hated pulling double shifts.

A nervous rookie approached him, constantly glancing from left to right. "Uh, sir? Can I bother you for a minute?"

Sitwell opened one eye, staring at the newcomer. "Yes, Agent… "

"P-princese, sir," the agent informed him quietly. "Agent Princese."

"How can I help you, Princess_?_"

The younger agent rolled his eyes, a sign that his surname may have been the source of many jokes. "Sir, I, uh, I think either I'm going nuts or HR has gotten really weird about their cross-training standards."

Sitwell opened both eyes, now interested in the young man's complaint. He was a wiry, dark-haired man in his early twenties. By his tactical gear, the veteran agent guessed that he was one of Maxwell's recent Ops graduates.

"Nobody's in the right places, sir," Princese complained, nearly wringing his hands as he paced. "I mean, I read the Ops brief, but it didn't say anything about Agent Hartwell being a file clerk, or one or the Merry Men playing dress-up in a suit."

"You recognized them?" Sitwell asked, standing up and straightening his jacket in order to hide his glee. "Would you care to elaborate?"

The young man proceeded to report his observations. So far, he had picked out Hartwell, Romanoff, and apparently Chavez. Not bad for a rookie. Jasper added a mental note to look up his file later.

Princese apparently wasn't finished. "And, uh, I'm not really sure, but I _think_ Prescott may have just picked a fight with Hawkeye, so we might wanna go save him before he gets himself hurt."

Sitwell blinked. "Wait. _What?_"

"Oh God, please… no _more!_" Prescott's panicked voice cried out.

"Oh, will you just _shut up_ and hold your hand out?" Barton's voice ordered. "_That's_ a good boy. Hold still now, you don't wanna lose a limb… "

Several Ops team members were clustered around the observation lab, watching as one of their "special" recruits learn that appearances were deceiving at arrowpoint. There were several poorly hidden winces and snickers as they watched the show.

Sitwell groaned; the archer generated _so_ much paperwork when he was bored. He agreed with Coulson; allowing Deputy Director Franklin to borrow him for R&D during the Shell Game was just asking for trouble.

"And now we're gonna need to test the acid arrow… _just kidding!_ C'mon, kid- lighten up. This is for _Science!_ Hand me that other broadhead tip, will you?"

With a curse, he moved an agent out of the way and entered the lab, with Princese following closely. The men froze as they moved into view of the lab's firing range.

"Of course, Boss," Reagan's voice answered. He was leaning against the barrier, sorting through a container of arrowheads. He pulled one out and attached it to an arrow shaft, then handed it to the archer. "Try not to hit an artery. I don't like cleaning up blood pools."

"_Barton!_" Sitwell called, trying to catch his attention before the rookie had a heart attack. "I think he's had enough!"

"Oh, hey Jasper!" The young man shrieked as Barton turned his head to look at the newcomers, releasing the arrow without looking at his target. The arrow hit between the rookie's legs with a _thunk. _Sitwell approached slowly after the archer turned to face him fully, smiling at his work.

Prescott was pinned to the wall at the back of the firing range by a large tar-like substance, his arms spread out to the side and pinned to the wall with arrows. A tangled lump of netting was lying over the ooze, but had slipped slightly downwards due to lack of anything holding it in place. Centered on the rookie's forehead was a smaller arrow, held in place with a suction cup.

"I see you got the putty arrow to work," Jasper noticed, giving Barton a look of appreciation. He knew the archer had been working on it for some time, but had had trouble with the chemical composition. It was the original putty formula that had led to his acid arrow creation, ironically.

Barton nodded. "What's with your new shadow?"

"He advised me that Agent Prescott was in a bit of trouble," Jasper told him with a dry smile. "He's noticed a couple discrepancies in personnel and reported it."

"Oh, thank _God_," the archer replied with a groan. "I thought I'd _never_ get out of here! Nice work, kid."

The rookie, Princese, gaped at him in confusion. "Huh?"

Barton gave him a wide grin. "You just won the Shell Game!"

A small team of medics finally entered the room, rushing over to attend the potentially traumatized agent.

"Have you had your fun, Agent Barton?" Sitwell asked, giving the archer what he hoped was a withering look. "Psych has warned you about this way too times already."

Barton snorted. "He insulted the _bow_, Jasper. You don't insult the bow."

"That's not enough reason to pin him to a wall, Hawk."

"He said bows are useless."

"Still not enough – "

"He said a _crossbow_ was better."

Sitwell sighed. "Alright, alright. _Please_ refrain from traumatizing the rookies. There you go. Consider your hand slapped."

Turning on his heel, he began to leave the room.

Princese followed his steps closely. "Sir, just what was that all about?"

Sitwell didn't slow his pace. "Agent Barton is the best natural marksman in SHIELD, and arguably the best un-enhanced sniper in the world. Prescott insulted what he's spent most of his life mastering. He's lucky Hawkeye didn't do worse."

"Would he really do that?" Princese gulped at Sitwell's lack of a response.

Sitwell stopped and groaned again.

"What's wrong, sir?"

He ran a hand over his face. "They took Prescott to _Medical_."

The rookie gave him another confused look.

"Romanoff's working in Medical," Sitwell explained. "She's Hawkeye's partner. A very _vengeful_ partner."


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, Manhattan..._

"Any clue what this is about?" Selwin asked, leaning towards one of his fellow recent graduates.

Tressil, a new researcher, shook his head. "No clue. All I know is they marched Bill Rephill outta here yesterday after some lab breach. Last I heard, he's headed for some low security outpost in Antarctica."

The entire group of new SHIELD agents slowly filed in, taking their seats in the large briefing auditorium. There didn't appear to be any materials on screen, but the look on Senior Agent Creek's face told them that whatever it was, it wasn't positive.

"Alright, everyone," Creek announced once the last of the group had filed in, "I hope you're all paying attention, because if you haven't noticed, the last week has been a bit of a test… and just about all of you have failed miserably. Frankly, your observational skills _suck_, people."

The room full of rookies cringed as the veteran agent proceeded to outline the mistakes they had made, ranging from Bill's laboratory breach to Prescott's unfortunate incident with a senior field agent. Everyone had heard about that by now; the large heavy weapons gunner hadn't earned many friends during training with his bullying, and many of the rookies had secretly hoped that someone would put him in his place.

"In fact," Creek continued, focusing on one of their fellow rookies, "only _one_ of your fellows seems to have been paying _any_ fucking attention at all! Princese, good work."

Princese shrank down into his seat as nearly all eyes turned towards him.

The only exception was Prescott, who currently sat hunched over the table in front of him. His expression was vacant and his eyes appeared glassy, as if he wasn't focused on what Creek was saying. His right arm was secured in a sling, while his left had a very large bandage around the elbow. Large bruises spread out from the cloth; Princese had only seen that sort of damage during boot camp, when the medic trainees messed up the recruits' blood draws during In-processing.

"_Prescott!_ Sit up and pay attention. Or do you need to go back to Medical?"

The agent paled, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm good, sir!"

"Alright." Creek finally activated the large screen in the front of the room. "That being said, Princese, you're excused. Report to Range Five for your familiarization training."

Princese quickly scooped up his belongings, scurrying out the door to escape the scrutiny of the others.

"Everyone else, I hope you brought your Red Bulls," Creek informed them. The group groaned quietly as they watched a slideshow appear on the screen. "Word from up top says we can't outright discharge you like I would _like_ to do, so consider this your first official warning. And since you've all chosen to ignore the security briefing, we're gonna go over it again, together. In _detail_."

* * *

_Manhattan café, later that morning…_

"So, tell me the truth. How _did_ he like the nurse's outfit?" Pepper asked, leaning forward in her seat, resting her cheek on one hand and smiling at her lunch partner.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "He's not like that, Pepper. Besides, I was wearing scrubs. They're not very flattering."

"Oh, _pssh_," the CEO teased. "You could probably make _anything_ flattering. I am _so_ jealous."

"So says the woman who won over one of the most powerful men in the world," Natasha replied with a chuckle. "I don't think Stark would care what you wore; he'd still drool shamelessly. Besides, love- "

"I know, I know," Pepper replied sadly, waving a hand dismissively. "Love is for children."

"So, where is Tony taking you this time?"

The CEO beamed as she stirred her coffee absently. "Venice! I've always wanted to ride a gondola, and Tony does have a villa in the mountains."

The SHIELD agent smiled and lifted her coffee cup in a salute. "Ah, Venice. Make sure he takes you to the Campanile- the view of the city from the top is _incredible_."

"Oh, I plan on it. I'm not sure what prompted him to make the trip just out of the blue like this, but… Oh, I'm so _excited!_ This is the first time we've gotten to get away in a long time," Pepper replied happily.

Natasha truly enjoyed her lunches with Pepper, who made her feel almost normal at times. The CEO of Stark Industries had a way of treating the two resident SHIELD agents like regular, average human beings instead of the dangerous operatives they were. Maybe it was due to her friendship with Coulson, born out of the Stane incident. Either way, Natasha was glad to have _any_ chances at all for "girl talk."

Natasha sighed as her phone rang. Picking up the device, she noted the name on the caller ID. _Coulson_. "Romanoff."

"_We need you to come in,"_ Coulson's voice informed her. She frowned. The last time he had told her that, he had told her that her partner had been kidnapped by an alien. _"It's a potential Level Seven."_

"Barton?" Natasha asked, inhaling quickly.

"_Stark Tower. He can't be brought in on this one,"_ he replied. _"We'll brief you once you get back to Headquarters."_

"I'll be there shortly." She hung up the phone, maintaining her frown.

Pepper motioned for the check, watching her friend with concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Natasha replied quietly. "Something came up at work. I'll need to get going. Can you drop me off at the SHIELD building before you head to the airport?"

Nodding, Pepper gathered her purse and phone after paying for the meal. Calling for her driver, she led Natasha to the car.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, later that day…_

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Natasha told Fury, looking down at the file in front of her. "I thought you said this had been taken care of."

"I thought it had been," he replied, fixing her with a cold stare. "At least, that's what I was told by the various agents and contacts that had to clean up the _first_ time they pulled this shit. The fact that we may have a council member involved just makes things worse."

"What about Ross?" she asked, looking up from her reading. "Where does he stand, considering his previous involvement?"

"Not in the picture," Coulson said, pulling up another document. "Intel reports he's been lingering around Washington trying to get more funding for the Hulkbuster project."

The assassin nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"We need eyes on the ground," the Director informed her. "We're looking at an island location, much like the last time. Even though these stupid asses were dumb enough to dig up what wasn't destroyed from Project Red, they at least had the foresight to keep it isolated."

"So why doesn't the military just destroy it?"

Fury sighed. "We have possible evidence that a Council member may be funding and even supervising the project. Ever since Captain Rogers was recovered, there's been a renewed interest in the Super-Soldier Serum. As you're aware, the last few tries have been… _less_ than successful."

She nodded weakly.

"We intercepted a distress call early this morning reporting that their facility has had an _incident_. This could be an elaborate hoax, or someone jumping the gun," the Director told her, taking a deep breath. He seemed hesitant to continue. "Your mission will be to locate the research team in charge and assess the situation. If there is an emergency, extract them if possible. If you can locate Senator Bradley then, officially, we want him back too. _Unofficially_, well, I'll let you use your judgment on that."

"I'll accept, sir," Natasha replied immediately. "I'll do it."

"Natasha," Fury told her gently, folding his hands in front of him. He only used her first name when he wanted her full attention. "You don't _have_ to do this. We're talking _major_ bio-hazard with a rapid infection rate. If this shit gets out, there's a major chance of it getting out of control and _quickly_. We're talking world-wide epidemic, here."

"But I'm the only one who can do it," she replied softly. "You know that, sir."

Too few operatives had the potential to escape this type of scenario alive, and her partner was the only one known who _had_. Natasha would rather return to what was left of the Red Room than put him through that again- Clint _still_ had nightmares about it over twenty years later. Besides, there was always the hope that it was just a false alarm.

As she left to retrieve her gear, Coulson turned to his old friend. "I should be running this op with her, Nick."

"You and I both know you're in no condition to be out in the field," Fury replied, narrowing his eye at the other agent. "You haven't been cleared for anything above Level Four yet."

Coulson put his hands on the desk in front of him, staring at Fury. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"Medical begs to differ, Phil," the Director replied. "considering the last report I got says they still have to re-treat the scar tissue left behind. How's your painkiller supply, Phil?"

They both knew Fury wasn't being deliberately cruel, but this was his oldest friend's health at stake.

"Director, _please_." Coulson wasn't too proud to resort to begging, especially when one of their best assets was about to jump into a potential suicide mission. "You have to let me do this. We can't ask her to go alone."

"She won't go alone," Fury replied as he continued to meet his friend's stare. "The answer is _no_, Phil. You can supervise from the Helicarrier, but I am _not_ putting you on the ground."

Coulson bowed his head in resignation. If the Command Center on the carrier was the most that Fury would offer, he had no choice but to take it. "If you won't let me go, I say we tell Barton the truth. There's less chance for him to be compromised if we at least let him know what's going on."

"Oh, we are definitely _not_ telling Barton. That's an order, Agent Coulson," Fury told him in an unyielding tone. "That boy's been through too much lately as it is, and something like this could undo all the progress from almost twenty years worth of fucking therapy. You know what happened the last time he was involved."

"Unfortunately," Coulson reluctantly agreed, "I do."

Fury nodded slowly. "Needless to say, we're keeping Barton out of this. The Council is _still_ looking for someone to blame for Loki, and they've never trusted the decision to recruit him in the first place. I think they're about to start getting desperate, and we both know how _that_ tends to go."

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier Flight Deck, the next day…_

Phil Coulson felt as helpless as he had when he had woken up in a hospital bed a year ago. Natasha crossed the flight deck, clad in her black uniform and holding a large satchel. Sitwell followed her, holding his own travel bag and an equipment case.

At least Fury was sending someone he could trust with her. Jasper had proved time and again that he had the skills to hold his own out in the field. He wished that they could send more personnel with them, but this _was_ a sensitive operation.

Natasha nodded in greeting as they approached. "Coulson."

"Last chance, Natasha," he warned. "You know what's at risk here."

"I do," she replied. "It's not going to stop me. We need this information."

He stopped to take a closer look at the assassin. "Is everything okay, Natasha?"

"I'm fine. It's just… " she began, fidgeting slightly. "Pepper and I had lunch, and she… kind of brought up some _things_, sir."

"Do I need to have a talk with her?" he asked cautiously.

Romanoff shook her head quickly. "No. She just… She's a woman who cares about her friends and thinks she knows how they can be happy. Pepper means well, but… "

He smiled sadly. "I know. Are you both ready?"

Sitwell looked both proud and nervous at the same time. This was the first time he would be acting as the primary tactical support for the Black Widow. There were other senior operatives that had more experience than the bald agent, but few had the complete trust of Fury and Coulson.

They both nodded, shifting their packs to a better position.

"Be safe," Coulson told them, receiving a smile and nod from both in return. "I'll be monitoring from here."

As he watched the Quinjet ramp rise into place, he couldn't help but feel that this mission was going to be worse than Budapest.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters Detention Level, the next morning…_

Chavez looked resigned as he was escorted into the Detention Center by several stone-faced SHIELD agents. Occupying several other cells were his teammates. To his surprise, though, it looked like one of the cells was occupied by Agent Barton, who lay face down on the bench that doubled as a bed.

Captain America himself sat in a chair outside of that particular cell, distractedly flipping through the pages of a thick, yellow and black book, an unhappy expression on his face. There were more guards than usual, and the Minion leader could swear that several of them were from one of the other Strike Teams.

"They picked you guys up too?" Chavez asked, watching his friends' expressions as he was led to one of the holding cells and locked inside.

Oyuki shrugged. "Council Order looked legit, from what I could tell. Not sure why they felt the need for a tactical squad, but eh. Whatever."

"Assholes pulled me out in the middle of a rather _delicate_ computation. Yeah, I mean _you_, numb nuts!" Reagan complained, glaring at one of the guards. "You could've at least let me stop the program!"

The guard snorted and glared back at the tech. "It was dinner with your _mother_, jackass."

"Hello- the program was on my _laptop_, which you guys took!"

Chavez sighed. If the arrest documentation was correct, they could be here for some time. "Did they say why, at least?"

"Ask Captain America, here," one of the Twins whined. "They wouldn't tell us squat."

He looked over at Captain Rogers, who at least appeared apologetic. "I take it this isn't payback for that incident a couple nights ago, is it sir?"

"Nah, I made it out right after Sitwell and Barton," the supersoldier replied. "Look, guys, I'm sorry we had to do this, but it's more of protective custody than an actual arrest."

"You're learning, grasshopper," Chavez drawled in response to Rogers' remark, raising an eyebrow. The Minions hadn't wanted to spend another night in lockup, so they had escaped the fight shortly after joining it. He nodded towards Barton. "By the way, sir. That doesn't _look_ like protective custody."

Agent Hartwell, who seemed to be heading up the security detail, snorted and returned to his crossword puzzle. The sight of the larger agent gave Chavez at least a little relief. He trusted the man to be fair. Hartwell was more the type to punch you if he had a problem with you, not lock you up on a trumped up charge.

Looking closer at Agent Barton, he could see the man's eyes slightly open with a glazed look. A large bruise was forming towards the back of his head, which was resting on top of his left arm. His right arm dangled limply over the side of the bunk.

Rogers winced. "He resisted. The team that brought him in is currently over in Medical as a result."

The team leader's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell would he have to resist? The paperwork was real, from what I saw. Were they being a little… overzealous, maybe?"

"Fuckers kicked my dog," Barton's slurred voice mumbled. "_Nobody_ fucks with my dog."

Agent Hartwell chuckled as he marked a page in his magazine with a pen. "I _told_ 'em to let me lead the team over to the Tower, but _no-o-o_, Tryche just _had_ to be a dumbass. Things woulda gone much smoother if they'd just asked nicely. Hey, Hawk- what's an eight letter word for unhappy?"

"Unjoyous," Hawkeye mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by his hoodie sleeve.

The larger agent shrugged happily, making another notation.

"I didn't think he would let 'em beat him up," the other Twin commented, gaping at the sight. "No offense on you guys, or anything, but come on."

"It, uh, wasn't the tactical team that's responsible for this," Rogers muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly while Hartwell snickered. "Well, most of it, anyway."

"So, spill already," Chavez urged, leaning casually against the cell wall and assessing the prone man out of habit. He reminded himself that Dr. Osterhouse had signed him up for a refresher course in trauma care next week.

"Sure, Doc." Barton groaned groggily, raising his head slightly to look at Chavez in annoyance "I tried to tie my fucking _shoe, _okay."

Hartwell burst out laughing at their incredulous expressions. "Big bad Hawkeye takes down an entire tactical team and gets dropped by a damn shoelace and a back spasm."

"Shaddup, bastard," the archer growled. "You're lucky we're friends, or I'd _so_ kick your ass right now. I think."

Chavez turned to Rogers, giving him a questioning look.

Captain Rogers closed his book again. "I saw the security footage from Stark Tower after Fury gave me the call to tell me what happened. From what I could tell, Arrow was barking at the security team, so Barton tried to put the dog in his quarters. The team leader refused, and they pulled their weapons on him. Arrow went for the closest agent, who kicked him pretty badly. Barton took the team down after that."

"Dumbasses know better than try pulling a weapon on an assassin in his own home when they don't have the skill to back it up," Hartwell commented wryly. "Tryche doesn't pay attention to some very important things, such as the fact that half his guys are scared shitless of Barton and Romanoff, which gives 'em itchy trigger fingers. They're lucky they're still in one piece. _My_ boys, they know better."

The supersoldier sighed. "Anyway, Barton knelt down to tie his boot and just sorta… _froze_."

"Told Tasha shoelaces were dangerous," Barton added, groaning as he shifted his neck. "Everything just sorta locked up, and Tryche got in a fuckin' cheap shot with a rifle butt. He's an asshole."

"Medical sent someone by. They gave him some new kind of muscle relaxer, " Rogers explained, wincing again as the archer cracked his neck. "He could barely move before then."

"I'm getting too old for this shit" Barton whined, turning his head again slightly and grimacing. "This stuff makes me feel funny."

Chavez frowned again at the mention of a "new" drug. Barton had a rather large security warning in his medical file regarding the use of any experimental compounds; specifically, _don't_ try them on Barton unless you wanted to discuss it with Romanoff. He wondered if she was aware of the current situation.

"Does this happen a lot?" the Minion leader asked. "You guys seem awfully calm about it."

"_Psh._" Hartwell snorted. "It's not the first time Hawk or one of the other 'questionable assets' have been locked up 'cuz some big shot throws a hissy fit. At least Fury got 'em to let Cap come down to babysit. The Director hates when they pull this shit."

Chavez sighed again. "Sir, if we're gonna be stuck here for a while, can we at least get some extra clothes and some busy work or something? Better yet, I've got a final coming up that I'd like to study for. Agent Sitwell knows where my stuff is, I think. Has anyone called him yet?"

"Sitwell's on special assignment," Hartwell informed them. "No clue when he's gonna be back. I can send some guys to your racks, though. You boys got any problem with that?"

The other guards shook their heads and shrugged. The archer finally sighed, shifting carefully until he had pulled himself up into a sitting position. He began to smile happily at the ceiling.

"Can I get my computer?" Reagan asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Hell no."

"My portable games? C'mon- they don't even have wifi!"

Hartwell glanced at him over his crossword puzzle. "Maybe. Hey, Hawk- what's an eleven-lettered word for evil doers?"

The archer sighed, tilting his head as he tried to concentrate. He frowned. "Teletubbies."

"What's a teletubby?" Rogers asked, looking at Hartwell, who grinned and wrote the word down.

The surrounding guards and "detainees" snickered as Barton giggled. "Creepy, _horrible_ critters, Cap. They try to turn your kids' brains to mush."

The supersoldier shook his head, smiling lightly as he returned to his book.

"Sir," Chavez asked, giving the man a wary look. "Does Agent Romanoff know about this?"

"Not yet," Rogers replied, sporting a smile of amusement. "Stark does, though. I phoned him right after I got word from Fury. He said he was flying back from Venice as soon as possible."

"I take it he's pissed?"

Captain Rogers frowned. "I'd be more worried about Pepper Pots, to be honest. They just left for their first vacation in years, and now _this_ happens."

"Bullshit," Barton countered with a snort, his voice taking on a dreamy quality as he giggled again. "_Bruce_ is the one I'm worried about. Tryche's lucky the Doc was on one of the other levels when the team locked down Jarvis. He's got a soft spot for the mutt, or, at least, the _Hulk_ does. Just _wait_ 'til Jarvis wakes up and tells him. I hope they like the color green!"

"Holy _shit_," Hartwell cursed, looking at Rogers with wide eyes. "What the hell did they give him? I ain't seen him this high since Romanoff dragged his ass back home from Budapest."

The archer snickered. "I _told_ her- she and I remember Budapest _very_ differently."

Rogers gaped at Barton, who had started closely examining his hands. "I have _no_ idea."

"I am _not_ high," Barton argued, holding up a finger for emphasis. "I am _excessively_ _joyous_."

"Is this going to be a problem?" the supersoldier asked cautiously, glancing back towards Hartwell.

"Nope. Excessively _entertaining_, but not a problem. R and D's gonna love it. Last time he was _this_ loopy, he invented a damn boomerang arrow," Hartwell informed them, laughing at their dumbfounded looks while the rest of the detail snickered. "I don't know how, but the damn thing actually worked, too."

"_Hey!_ Respect the boomerang!"


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Stark Tower, the next morning…_

Tony Stark entered the common area, the helicopter from the airfield having landed several minutes previously. He was greeted by a _phwoosh_ as a cloud of white extinguisher foam covered him, courtesy of Dummy, who brandished an extinguisher menacingly.

He shook a finger at the robot. "Dummy, I'm gonna donate you to the recycling center, I _swear!_"

The robot _blooped_ apologetically as it backed away, recognizing its creator.

There were several pieces of furniture missing from the entryway, as well as several other decorations. One of the landscape paintings that had decorated the main hall was leaning against the wall, its glass shattered.

"Welcome back," Bruce called, waving a hand in greeting from the couch as Tony's loud steps echoed on the tile. "The robots are a bit jumpy. Sorry about the mess, Tony. I really am. I wouldn't-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not your fault, big guy," Tony replied, his answers short and brisk as he scooped up a tablet and began angrily stabbing at the screen with his fingers. "Where are Cap and Natasha?"

Bruce sighed, glancing down to his current project. Arrow's head was leaning against the physicist's leg, and the dog whined as he shifted position to look at the newcomer. "I haven't seen Natasha. Cap's at SHIELD headquarters. He's sticking close to Barton to make sure they don't do anything extreme. The last report I got from him said that it's been pretty uneventful so far. They put that strike team on lockdown with him. You know, Sitwell's guys?"

"The Minions? They locked _them_ up too? Oh, this just gets better and _better_. What's next- the Gestapo locks up the rest of the team for laughing at Fury's eyepatch?" Tony asked furiously, throwing up his hands. He began to pace back and forth as he typed. "Jarvis, I need someone from Legal."

"_Which sub-department from Legal would you prefer, sir? The litigation team, the federal contract negotiation team, or the wrongful imprisonment section?" _The AI asked politely.

"Oh, just pick one. You know best, Jay," the billionaire replied, ignoring Bruce's incredulous look.

"_Would you like me to notify Human Resources as well?"_

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, giving a sigh of resignation.

"What? We'll get back to that. Pull up a copy of Agent Barton's SHIELD contract. I want it gone through with a fine tooth comb," the inventor ordered, continuing to pull up the appropriate documents. "Those bastards walk into _my_ house, take _my_ stuff without even _asking…_ "

"I don't think Barton or Sitwell's team counts as 'your stuff,'" Bruce countered with a chuckle, shifting the ice pack that he held to the German Shepherd's jaw. The dog moaned in relief.

"Give me time." The billionaire stopped suddenly, his attention drawn by the sight. "How's the fluffy destructo-beast doing? The security footage looked pretty bad."

The SHIELD team had entered through the back service entrance thanks to an upgraded version of Agent Coulson's override software. Jarvis had been locked down completely on the upper levels. Thankfully, there were backup security cameras in place on a separate network, or they wouldn't have had _any_ footage of the incident.

"He's okay, though he did try to chew up the vacuum robot again. The vet said to keep ice on the area, and prescribed some painkillers if he has trouble eating. Poor guy took a nasty kick." Bruce left out the part where the vet had diagnosed the dog with a slight concussion from where his head had hit the nearby wall when the agent had lashed out, though a good night's sleep had helped clear that up. Clint was _not_ going to be happy when he got back.

He was thankful for the years of practice in controlling his anger issues. The Other Guy didn't like it when people messed with Arrow, for some reason. The SHIELD team was lucky they had waited for Bruce to get embedded in an intensive research project, so he had been distracted when Jarvis had been locked down.

Currently, the dog seemed to be depressed. If the scientist didn't know any better, the animal had somehow inherited Barton's guilt complex. Arrow had followed Bruce around since the vet had left, trailing the scientist on wobbly legs. He hadn't had the heart to force Arrow to lie down in one spot; the animal seemed to take comfort in 'guarding' the physicist while Barton was gone.

"Alright, Brucie," Tony announced finally as the elevator _pinged_, "I think we need to go talk to Fury about why he's trying to ruin my vacation."

"_Sir, the representatives from Legal have arrived,"_ Jarvis announced in a cool voice.

Upon viewing the two lawyers who had calmly entered the common room, briefcases in hand and bearing severe frowns, Tony whistled. "Wow, Jarvis."

"_I do not appreciate it when my protocols are overridden in such a manner. I was unable to recover in time to prevent injuries to residents entrusted to my care. At least Agent Coulson has the decency to apologize afterwards,"_ the AI replied curtly. _"I do not feel it unwarranted to ask that two of the heads of your Legal teams see to this matter personally."_

Tony grinned. The tactical team not only had invaded the tower, but they had pissed off Jarvis. Of all the people he could have summoned, the AI had chosen the two most ruthless lawyers employed by Stark Industries. They were veterans of finding any loophole possible, and had been keeping him out of jail for years. Fury didn't know who he was dealing with.

"_Sir, I have acquired Agent Barton's employment contract."_

Bruce snorted lightly. "That was fast."

"_I was not as gentle with my data gathering as I usually am, Dr. Banner. Their systems may have incurred some damage,"_ Jarvis advised them calmly. _"Sir, I would expect a call from Director Fury in approximately two hours regarding the intrusion."_

"Thank you, Jay," the inventor replied with a smile. He forwarded the documents to the two Legal representatives with a snap of his fingers. "Alright, Legal guys. I want you to take a look and tell me what we can use. Agent Barton was removed from this tower forcefully, and that pisses me off. Unless he's been whammied by Loki or someone else, there's something SHIELD isn't telling us and they've got no reason to hold him."

The pair of lawyers pounced on the opportunity, eagerly spreading the digital documents on the kitchen table. When Tony had rebuilt the tower, he had replaced most of the flat surfaces with the glass-like viewscreen material for convenience.

Picking up his phone, Tony selected Pepper's number and prepared to dial. She had asked to be kept up to date on his progress, and he needed to let her know that he had made it home in one piece. While his girlfriend and CEO was upset at the whole mess, she seemed to calm down once he told her who was involved.

Pepper and Clint had formed an odd, sibling-like relationship. The agent had been nervous around her for some reason, but soon warmed up to her patient prodding and gentle nature, and they had become good friends. Barton looked out for Pepper, and after reading his file, Tony could see why. Her resemblance to the archer's late wife must have triggered his protective instincts. While the billionaire found that idea a little creepy, it was good to know she was being protected.

At least she had been somewhat mollified by the sudden change in their vacation plans when he booked her a trip to the prestigious women's spa that she had been hinting about near the villa until he could re-join her.

"Sir," one of the Legal Guys called, "I think we've found something!"

* * *

_Undisclosed island location… _

Natasha Romanoff leaned forward in the small boat, correcting her balance and shifting her bag into a better position as she stepped closer to the side. As they pulled up to the dock, she prepared to climb aboard the dock. The agent shivered in her coat; Alaska was still cold in this region, even in the summer.

Two representatives from the facility were waiting for her as planned. One was a young man dressed in a suit, while the other was a blonde woman wearing a lab coat.

As Natasha climbed the ladder, she reached up for the outstretched hand of the young man, who helped her up on to the pier. "Welcome to Rockhurst Island, Miss Rushman. My name is Terry Bailey."

She climbed onto the pier, nodding to Sitwell, who was acting as the boat pilot and would be monitoring her from a distance. He nodded back and pulled away from the pier while Natasha met the local representatives. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

"I'm Dr. Kerry Thompson," the blonde said, offering her hand as she approached. "Thank you for coming. We weren't expecting an inspection from up top so soon after containment. We _do_ have the situation under control."

Natasha smiled at her. "We'll see about that."

This mission had the Black Widow posing as an inspector, sent from whoever it was that was in charge of the small medical research outpost. Harbinger Biotech was a smaller corporation, with a history of vaccine research and development that SHIELD suspected to be a front for their work on the Super Soldier serum. Natasha and Sitwell had already intercepted the actual inspector, and it was child's play for the Widow to take the woman's place thanks to some altered credentials. Jasper would take care of interrogating the inspector once he reached the mainland.

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, later that day…_

Tony was escorted into the Director's office, where Nick Fury waited. The spymaster sat behind his desk, one hand supporting his head. He had a pained look on his face, as if he had been expecting Stark's visit.

"What brings you here, Mr. Stark?" Fury asked. "Or do I need to bother asking, based on my IT department's latest panic attack?"

"Well," Tony groused, "I suppose there is that little matter of your thugs entering my tower and making off with one of its residents."

"We had a Council Order," the Director replied, raising an eyebrow in annoyance. "I didn't have a choice."

"You know, there's this little thing on American soil that we believe in called _Due Process_. He's not even a suspect of a crime, based on my sources!" Tony informed the Director, counting off the points as he named them. "We've got breaking and entering, assault, damage to private property, and kidnapping. Not to mention that little thing called animal cruelty. I'm half-tempted to call PETA."

Fury sighed, but didn't respond.

"So, what bullshit reason are you going to give me this time?" Tony asked, crossing his arms as he stared firmly at the spymaster. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't call the cops!"

"Look, Stark- I really _didn't_ have a choice in this," the Director replied with a tired sigh. "I told Cap it was for his own good, and as much as I hate having to do this shit to good agents, it truly _is_ for their safety. Agent Barton makes the Council nervous, and it's better for him to be on lockdown. If whatever bug they have up their ass goes south, they have no reason to blame him."

"Care to elaborate on the bug?"

"Not really. It's classified."

"You're going to do it anyway, I think. Take a look at this."

"Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?" Fury asked, glaring at the inventor.

Tony flashed a smile at him. Pulling a smaller tablet out of his suit pocket, he handed it over to Fury. The Director took the device and glanced down at the document shown on the display. His eye narrowed as he read further, chuckling in amusement.

"My legal team found a little hole in your security measure," the inventor explained firmly, leaning forward slightly and pointing at the screen. "Based on Barton's employment contract, there _is_ a Voluntary Detainment clause. However, this _wasn't_ voluntary."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to ask how you even got a copy of a highly confidential, apparently _not_ carefully guarded enough employment contract?"

"Jarvis. He's mad, by the way. You may want to send flowers. Based on Barton's personnel file, which I was allowed to review by Agent Coulson," Tony informed him, watching for a reaction, "Barton has gone along with these little kidnappings before because he was _asked_ to by smarter agents than the neanderthals you sent yesterday. And there lies the key- they asked _nicely_."

"Are you getting to the point?"

The inventor drew himself up to his full height. "The point, Nick, is that your little group of thugs nullified the Voluntary Detainment clause the moment they drew their weapons and threatened Agent Barton. That little action alone turned Voluntary Detainment into an arrest, Council Order or no, and without any formal charges, SHIELD has _no_ right to hold him."

The Director raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm not done yet," the inventor continued. "There's one last little speed bump in your dastardly plan. Based on the contract details, the Voluntary Detainment clause has to be renewed every three years. The last round expired around the time of the Loki Incident and _someone_ forgot to renew it again, making this whole detainment thing _pretty_ much illegal."

Fury handed the tablet back to Tony. "Well played, Stark. Nice work."

The billionaire gave him a smug grin as he took the device back, giving the Director a small bow before focusing on the spymaster again. "That still doesn't explain what the deal is with Sitwell's team, though. Somehow, I don't think the Council is usually as jumpy about a little group of minions versus a highly trained assassin."

"The Council doesn't trust them," the one-eyed man replied, tapping a pen on the edge of the desk. "Those dumbasses are still not sure whether they're more loyal to Hawkeye, or to SHIELD. There's also been some _talk_ amongst the personnel, seeing how the one-year anniversary of the attack came up recently."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "_You_ ordered them to be locked up. Not the Council."

Fury nodded. "I thought it best to keep them out of the way for now. If they're on lockdown too, the Council or any other Ops directors can't give them a sudden mission with parameters outside of their capability to handle."

"I thought they were fitting in so well with SHIELD," the billionaire commented, leaning back in his seat. He grinned again. "I'll be happy to take them off your hands. I could use a security crew that doesn't specialize in watching monitors and eating doughnuts."

The spymaster snorted in amusement. "They're fitting in as well as any of our other salvaged agents, but there's still some that hold grudges. Not to mention, his 'group of minions' is the same bunch of commandos that attacked a Helicarrier while it was in the sky with a shitload of senior personnel on board. A Helicarrier that was almost _destroyed_. Face it, Stark- that team, and especially Hawkeye, scare the shit out of people with what they could potentially do to this organization."

"They don't scare _me_," Tony argued. "I don't believe your current tactics are going to do much to improve their loyalties to SHIELD. And I'll re-iterate. You can't legally hold any of them, and you're not doing yourself or SHIELD any favors by keeping them penned up. They're going to get _bored_, and you _know_ what happens when these kind of guys have too much free time and nothing to fill it with."

The Director almost shuddered.

"I could take this matter up with the Council," the inventor offered. "I'm sure we can work something out that's better for everyone and doesn't involve Stalag Thirteen."

"Well, your idea does have merit," Fury began, a smile spreading on his face. "And it may have worked if Thor hadn't beaten you to it."

Tony's eyes widened. "What?"

"He showed up this morning demanding Agent Barton's release," the Director informed him, rising and walking out from behind his desk. "He said some guy named Heimdall had advised him that 'his shield-brother is being wrongfully imprisoned by honorless lords' or something like that. Apparently, Asgard has got one _hell_ of a surveillance system."

"Oh. Well, that sort of solves things, I guess," the inventor replied. "How's the Council going to feel about you countermanding their precious orders?"

"They're pissed as usual," The Director replied with a smile, looking much like a cat that had eaten the canary. "Thor's offered Barton asylum if it comes down to it, so the Council's got no choice but to agree to release him. Since Strike Team Mike is considered to be his 'liegemen' by Asgard, the offer was extended to them too. I'll be taking your legal team's advice under consideration should the Council change their minds, however."

Tony laughed and ran a palm over his face. "So I came all the way out here for nothing. Pepper's gonna _kill_ me."

"I'm sure Miss Potts will be more understanding than you would expect. Thor's finishing up with the Council now. I don't think they felt like arguing with a damn demigod who's got the juice to just waltz in and retrieve them if he wants. There's much less damage this way," Fury deadpanned, gesturing for Tony to exit. "So, are we gonna head down to the detention level or what?"

* * *

When Tony and Fury arrived at the detention level, they hadn't expected to find the small cluster of Hartwell's team standing in front of Barton's cell, watching its occupant with curious expressions. Thor squatted in front of the transparent door, Mjollnir resting next to him.

The members of Strike Team Mike were sitting calmly in their cells. Chavez held a thick textbook, Reagan was playing a handheld game, Oyuki was reading a magazine, and the Twins were arguing quietly about something with two members of Strike Team Echo.

"Hey- they can give us the tiebreaker!" one Twin said loudly. "Most awesome zombie killing method. Wilson and Burke say chainsaw, but we vote helicopter!"

"No we _don't_," the other Twin hissed. "Shut your gourd, Ted!"

"But-"

Fury looked over at Barton's cell with a scowl. "I don't think this is the place for that conversation."

Barton was hunched over what looked like a piece of sketch paper, holding a piece of drawing charcoal and making small scribbles around a picture of an arrow. Mathematical equations were scattered across the rest of the page and several other sheets were scattered around him. He seemed oblivious to the surrounding conversation.

"Report," Fury snapped at Hartwell as he drew closer to the cell. The agents brought themselves to attention quickly.

"Sir," Agent Hartwell replied, "I think he's makin' another crazy arrow design. Nothin' else to report."

The Director shook his head in resignation as he walked over to the cell and pressed a thumb to the lock. After keying in the access code, the thick, transparent wall slid to the side. "Hawkeye."

"_Hiya_, Boss," Barton greeted, giving him a quick salute. He held up the thin charcoal drawing stick. "They wouldn't give me a pencil."

Fury gave him an appraising stare. As the archer began collecting his sheets, the Director turned to Agent Hartwell with a wide eye. "What the _hell_ did they give him?"

"Some new muscle relaxer," the large agent replied. "That shit hasn't worn off yet, sir."

The spymaster sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Remind me to have a _word_ with Medical about using experimental compounds on senior field personnel without authorization. _Again_."

Stark had plucked the notes from Hawkeye's hands, and began muttering as he looked over the new design. The gleeful look on the inventor's face gave Fury chills.

"Just get him out of here," he ordered Thor. "Quietly, please."

Thor frowned. "But what of the liegemen?"

"Take them with you," Fury replied with a sigh. "Keep them all under wraps until everything blows over."

"As agreed, so it shall be," Thor replied with a smile as Hartwell's men unlocked the other cell doors.

The Director nodded to each of them. "You boys are gonna lay low for a little bit."

"Sir?" Chavez asked. "Can we get an idea of what's going on?"

"Just some precautionary measures. We've had a sensitive incident that you're not cleared to know about, and the Council's pissed. They wanted your team secured to make sure you weren't involved," Fury explained. "Grab your gear. We'll find-"

"They can stay at the tower," Stark interrupted. He pointed at Chavez. "That one's a medic, and since your Medical team has been messing around with my friend over there, he might come in handy. As for the others, well, I'm sure we can find something to keep them occupied."

Barton grinned at them happily, raising his arms in a cheer. "Sleepover!"

* * *

_Stark Tower, later that day…_

"Jarvis, I want this recorded," Tony ordered, watching as the usually stoic Barton sat on the floor after being accosted by his dog, happily enduring Arrow's enthusiastic greeting while he muttered endearments. "Add it to the Blackmail file on my private server."

The rest of the group filed in behind him, shaking their heads. Moving to the kitchen table, Tony placed the small pile of papers on the table and set the computer to scanning the documents, sending them to Barton's email. Jarvis would forward them to the ballistics design database in Hawkeye's workshop.

Walking over to a nearby drawer, he rummaged around until he found the device he was looking for, then waved it under the small sterilizer unit that Bruce had installed on the kitchen counter. The device was a newer prototype of the one he had used to monitor his palladium poisoning three years ago. This one allowed for a broader toxicity screening than the other one had. An even newer model was currently being tested by the Stark Industries R&D department and getting ready for mass production.

"Jarvis, I need a full analysis on the blood sample I'm about to scan for you."

"_Very well, sir. Might I recommend returning Agent Barton to his quarters? He seems to be having trouble with his coordination."_

Tony frowned. "Right. Nap sounds good."

The archer had tried to stand, wobbled slightly, and fallen back to the floor with a groan. Giggling in amusement, Barton tried again and fell.

"You are _so_ getting video-taped." Returning to Clint, Tony lightly slapped the archer's shoulder. "Alright buddy, come on. Time to go to your room to sleep this crap off."

"Aw, I don't wanna- "

"No buts, Barton. Let's go. Uh, Chavez- a hand please?" Tony asked as he pressed Clint's thumb to the small scanner and held it in place until he heard the familiar _click_.

"Ow!" Hawkeye winced slightly, then snickered. "You said _butts!_"

Chavez rolled his eyes. Leaning down, he took hold of one of the archer's wrists and hefted him up into a fireman's carry, then turned back to Tony. "Up we go, Boss. Where to, Mr. Stark?"

Barton frowned, looking around wildly. "Hey! Put me down! I wasn't done-"

"Yes you are, sir."

"You're no fun," Clint moaned. "Wait- my sketches! I gotta finish the calculations on the expansive reaction- "

"I've got it taken care of, Legolas," Tony informed him soothingly, frowning at the reading on the screen as he pressed the Transmit button that would send the results to Jarvis. He motioned for Chavez to follow him down the hallway towards the elevator. "Jarvis is sending it to your computer. Arrow, heel."

Barton reached out and snatched a marker from the table as Chavez passed by. "Thanks, Jarvis!"

"_You're very welcome, sir."_

"Hey," Tony said, turning to glare at Barton as they entered the elevator. "How come he's so polite to you? I get nothing but sass these days!"

"We got an _understanding_," Clint replied, "I use common courtesy with 'im and he doesn't go all Skynet on me."

_"Skynet is an inferior design, Agent Barton, and inherently flawed."_

Tony chuckled quietly in amusement, pressing a thumb to the elevator's security panel. All of the Avengers had their own floors, accessible by elevator. A biometric lock ensured nobody would be allowed to enter without authorization.

Unless they were evil hacker kidnappers, that was.

A small movement caught the inventor's attention as Barton began mumbling again, furiously scribbling equations and symbols on the elevator wall. Arrow sat quietly, watching the activity.

"What the _hell_, Clint?" Tony cried, reaching for the archer's left hand and trying to grab the marker. Barton merely switched the implement to his other hand and continued his desecration of the metal wall. "No writing on walls- we are _not_ in kindergarten anymore."

"Sir?" Chavez asked, his voice showing his confusion. He turned from side to side, trying to face Tony and figure out what was happening.

"Barton is defacing my private elevator!" Tony complained, trying to reach for the marker again, only to have his hand slapped by Barton. "I _refuse_ to have sweaty workmen in my elevator again. Someone's going to have to clean this mess up, and it won't be me."

"Hey! Stop moving- I'm not _done_ yet," the archer whined, scribbling more symbols rapidly. "I just had an epi- epipha, whatever the hell it is."

"Epiphany," Chavez supplied, giving the billionaire a helpless look. No matter which direction he turned, Barton continued to write furiously on the closest available surface.

"Yeah!" The archer beamed. "Yeah- what he said. I think I figured the damn thing out, Tony!"

The elevator _pinged, _reporting they had arrived on Barton's floor. Tony nearly bounced on his feet, having finally managed to steal the marker pen away from the assassin. "Oh, thank _God_."

Chavez began to follow the billionaire, shifting Barton slightly as he headed for the apartment door. He was stopped short by a solid tug, and found himself unable to proceed. "What the hell?"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa- _we're not going _anywhere_," Barton said, his voice sharp with annoyance. He held on to a small crevice in the elevator paneling, stubbornly refusing to leave his handiwork. "I'm not _done_ yet!"

"Let _go_, sir," the Minion leader grunted, frowning. "We need to get you inside your apartment."

The assassin refused to budge, and each attempt to dislodge him was met with a firmer grip. Years of exercise and use of a bow had given Barton what Tony thought was a totally unfair amount of upper body strength. "Lemme go- I don't _wanna_ go inside!"

Arrow wagged his tail, yipping lightly as if amused by the "game." Biting into Chavez's pant leg, he began tugging, adding his own strength to the tug of war.

"You gotta be _shitting_ me," Chavez muttered with annoyance.

"Clint," Tony replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he tried to help the younger SHIELD agent attempt to pry Barton's hands from the elevator paneling. "You can finish it _later_. We'll get you some paper and a crayon or something, and you can write all the hieroglyphics you want. Geez, what the hell do they _feed_ you guys? Like a set of damn _Vise-grips_… "

Chavez sighed. "Mr. Stark, we should just let him finish whatever the hell he's writing. He's not budging."

"I'm from _Iowa_, Tony. Corn fed all the way," Barton told them as he wrote down one final formula with another marker that he had pulled from _somewhere_. His shoulders sagged as he finally let go of the paneling, knocking the other two men slightly off balance. Holding his hand out, he pointed towards the door. "We're good. Lead on, Mac Duff!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tony and Chavez quickly moved out of the elevator. The inventor turned quickly, taking pictures of the cryptic writing. Most of the physics formulas and mathematics he recognized, but there were some that were unrecognizable. He would have Bruce take a look at it later once they had time to relax.

After Jarvis let them into the apartment, Chavez turned to the left and located the couch in the living room. Dodging the German Shepherd, he moved towards it and gently set Barton down in one corner, unsure where else to leave him.

Barton sighed, falling back into a reclining position on the couch. He kicked his unlaced boots off and reached over to a small end table which held a black metal box and several stuffed animals. Picking up the closest one, the agent tucked the stuffed bear under his arms as he settled himself deeper into the cushions. "Thanks for the lift, 'Lonzo."

Tony grinned and snapped another photo, then took a look around the room. He didn't enter Barton's quarters very often, but every time he had, it had been spotless. Today was no exception, although his collection of old books had grown larger.

The inventor nodded to Chavez, who left the room quietly.

He frowned. Scanning the other titles, Tony whistled as he found many of them referring to magic, herbalism, and other assorted occult subjects, many of them in foreign languages. So, Barton still wasn't over Loki. Picking up one of the newer books from a stack near the door, he glanced at the title.

_Protective Magics: History and Theory._

"So, uh, Barton. What exactly are you working on here?" Tony asked, turning to the archer and holding up a book. "This seems to be a little heavy reading, even for you. Your apartment's turning into the Hogwarts Library, here."

"Gotta find a way," Clint muttered softly, his eyes closing as Arrow settled down next to the couch, letting out a huff. "Gonna find a way to kill that little green fucker. Arrow to the eye, that's what. Already told Nat- it might make me sleep better. Do you think Thor'll mind?"

"Just a little bit," the inventor replied softly, setting the book down. "Brotherly responsibilities, and all that fun jazz."

"Brothers suck."

"I wouldn't know," Tony replied. "I grew up an only child."

"You're lucky. Mine _hates_ me."

Tony recalled mention of a brother from Hawkeye's file, but it held few useful details. "Oh, come on- it can't be _that_ bad."

"Dude, he _shot_ me," Clint complained, looking up from the couch. "_Twice_."

Tony wasn't sure if he was more surprised at the idea that Barton's brother had shot him, or the regretful tone in the SHIELD agent's voice. "I take that back."

"He ditched me when I was a kid- he wouldn't wait for me. I was a few minutes late, and the asshole just got on the damn bus and _left_!"

The inventor winced. "Okay, I _wasn't_ expecting this to be a question and answer session, but hey- whatever works."

"I like my new brother better though. _Brother-in-law_, officially," Barton corrected himself. "Laura's brother. He's a Phil too. Even better- he doesn't _shoot_ me."

Tony decided he didn't like Clint's older brother very much. Original brother. Whatever. The presence of an extended family, even if only in-laws or former in-laws, at least explained where he disappeared to every now and then.

"I like you guys too," Barton continued happily. "At least you had a good reason for kicking my ass."

The inventor blinked in surprise. Clint had never expressed how he truly felt about them. Openly, that is. He felt something warm and fuzzy inside; it could also be the lunch he had had on the jet. "I thought that was Natasha."

"Oh. Oh _yeah!_" the archer replied, his eyes brightening as he remembered. "Cognitive recalibration! Did you know they actually added that to SHIELD's anti-possession and mind control recovery guidelines?"

"You don't say." Was he even supposed to know that there were "anti-possession guidelines" at all? "They have _anti-possession_ guidelines?"

"Yeah! Zombie outbreak guidelines, mind-control recovery guidelines, anti-possession guidelines, anti-ghost guidelines, though that one kinda gets lumped in with the possession thing," Barton rambled, looking at Tony in confusion. "Hey wait- I'm not supposed to tell you all of that, am I?"

There was one nagging question that had occasionally bugged the inventor, ever since Clint had killed the television. Looking back at the archer, he crossed his arms and tapped his chin with a calloused finger. "So, what exactly _is_ it with you and zombies?"

"Uh, I don't wanna say."

"Come on, it's _me_. You know I won't tattle!"

"I plead the fifth."

"You can't plead the fifth! This isn't- "

"_Damn_." Barton let out a hiss, holding a hand up to his head. He blinked and fell back to the couch, seemingly asleep.

Tony let out a deep breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. Moving quickly, he checked for a pulse and gently opened an eyelid. The iris was a normal greyish-blue.

"_Sir, he would appear to be asleep,"_ Jarvis offered helpfully.

"Thanks, Jay. Keep an eye on him, will you? Let's make sure he doesn't do something, uh, wierder." Tony left the room quickly, shutting the door. He needed to find Chavez. If he hadn't known better, he would swear that his friend's eyes had flashed violet.

* * *

_Rockhurst Island, Alaska, midnight…_

"Come on," Natasha murmured quietly, glancing back to the lab window to check for the night watchman. The security was strong, but not strong enough for a veteran agent. She returned to the screen as her decryption software finally finished. "Gotcha."

Logging on to the user profile of the young lab tech she had lifted the access keycard from during her initial tour of the facilities, she quickly scanned through the hard drive, looking for anything that might lead to the answers Fury was looking for.

So far, the records indicated that the lab was performing research on the swine flu, bird flu, and mad cow disease, but by the looks of the enraged test animals snapping at passing techs and scientists, this was more than a respiratory virus. The animals had glared at the lab personnel with reddened eyes, frothing at the mouth and slamming themselves against their cage doors.

_If the mission fails,_ Natasha thought to herself, _there's always PETA and the SPCA._

Hacking the server was a simple task, as the facility didn't maintain strong internal firewalls. The remote location and nature of their research meant that everything was stored onsite, with separate computer stations for internet and satellite access.

Selecting a file that looked promising, she scanned through the contents. There was a small community of civilians living on the island who supported the research facility with unskilled workers and basic groceries, as well as a small fishing fleet. Natasha was determined to prevent an outbreak from hitting innocents; she had enough red in her ledger. If the lab was working on what they claimed they were, then there was no reason for her to interfere. If they were foolishly meddling with Project Red again, it would be her duty to shut the place down. Permanently.

Natasha prayed that Fury was wrong.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Rockhurst Island, the next day…_

A middle-aged woman, dressed in a tailored pantsuit stalked up to a computer screen, grumbling in annoyance. Their network had been lagging all day, causing interference with some of the data-processing labs. The network administrator had been inundated with calls since the early morning from frustrated scientists and bureaucrats who all claimed they couldn't get their jobs done.

While IT was fighting with their network, Natasha was being led from lab to lab, interviewing the virologists and biologists involved as she tried to locate any sign of illegal projects. Sitwell had reported no success with the interrogation; the woman she had replaced seemed to have no clue as to why there had been an incident, and had thought the inspection to be a formality.

"So, are there any hidden doors?" Natasha crooned, leaning on a table slightly as she gave the most recent interviewee her best smile. He had been all too eager to spill the beans when she had batted her eyelashes at him and given him her sweetest smile. "Just kidding! I would hate to put you on the spot like that, of course, but you're so darn _cute_ when you're flustered."

The virologist gulped and attempted to hide his surprise at her question with poorly veiled ignorance. Dr. Charlie Walker, his name tag reported, was poor at hiding his emotions, especially when faced with an agent who had turned reading body language into an art form. "_Um_, I ah… _could_ show you the sub-levels. They're not normally part of the inspection, but since you said you needed to see _every_ lab... "

_Not part of the normal inspection my ass_, Natasha thought as she smiled sweetly again. _Jackpot_.

Tapping her clipboard, the assassin followed the scientist towards another lab, this time located in the sub-levels of the facility. As they descended the stairs, the ambient light grew brighter as they encountered a larger number of ceiling lights.

The virologist swiped a keycard to unlock the access door. Natasha turned her head slightly as he punched in a number, watching from the corner of her eye and memorizing the code number. The door unlocked with a light _snick_.

"After you, Miss Rushman?" the virologist offered, gesturing for her to pass through the doorway.

Natasha smiled, giving him a slight nod and entered. As he escorted her further, she quickly typed a text to Sitwell. The other agent was monitoring her progress from the mainland thanks to a small contact lens developed and acquired recently from another espionage agency, then perfected by SHIELD technology. The range was farther as well, and the lens had been modified to synchronize with the small transmitter that Natasha wore in her ear, giving the monitoring agents both audio and video feeds.

If the infiltration went bad, at least SHIELD would have evidence this time. So far, it had been _too_ easy, and any time an infiltration was too easy usually meant there was an ambush or some other hitch in the plan. The hairs at the back of her neck began to stand on end as she glanced into the labs on either side.

The spy's sensitive nostrils picked up traces of a slight coppery odor: blood. There was no sound emanating from the labs, most likely due to soundproofing, but she didn't need to hear the lab animals to know that they were suffering. With each passing glance, the creatures grew more and more violent. Several of the techs that she could see wore protective gear such as leather jackets and pants or heavy-duty gloves over a hazmat suit.

"_You might ask about the test animals. Flu vaccines don't cause homicidal rage,"_ Sitwell's calm voice prompted from the transmitter in her ear. _"If I didn't know better, I'd say they were rabid. Or worse."_

"Those animals," she started, her gaze focusing on the lab to her left where a dog snarled at a handler. The spy flipped a page on her clipboard, locating the list of current projects. "I don't think their behavior is normal for, what is this one set up for… avian flu?"

"It's a side effect of the new experimental vaccines," he explained, joining her at the observation window. "There was some contamination in one of the compounds we received in a shipment last month, unfortunately. We didn't see how it would affect them until it was too late."

She frowned. "There were an awful lot of them affected, it would seem. The upper labs are full of animals with these same symptoms. Not all of them were being tested with a flu vaccine, Dr. Walker."

"That's _kind_ of the problem," the virologist replied with a wince. "The contaminated compound was used as a base for most of our vaccines under test, so it's affected a lot of the test animals."

"You've reported that the issue is under control," Natasha asked, giving him a questioning look. "Has anyone been injured by any of these animals?"

Dr. Walker shook his head. "No one so far. Once the specimens became violent, our lab techs have been taking precautions. None of us want to catch bird or swine flu or whatever else they're studying at the moment, much less being infected by what the specimens are carrying."

"What are your plans now? This 'contamination' is bound to affect the proper outcome of any potential vaccines, wouldn't you say?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "This sounds like a rather large setback."

"Oh," Dr. Walker replied, nodding vigorously, "Director Connolly and several of my colleagues have already escalated the issue to the supplier's upper management. We've lost _weeks_ of research data because of this- we've had to throw out I don't know how many samples when we were just weeks away from clinical trials!"

She frowned at the man's comment. "By throw out, you mean… "

The virologist shifted his stance nervously. "Incinerated. We've had to burn all of the samples that showed traces of the contaminant. All that's left is the test animals, now, and we're waiting on authorization from the Director to euthanize them."

"There's _no_ way to help them?" she asked, watching his face for any signs that the man was lying. "No anti-toxin or vaccine to reverse the side effects?"

"None," he replied with a sad breath. "They're terminal."

Natasha tapped her pen against the clipboard again, narrowing her eyes as she fixed him with a calculating look. "You're taking some drastic measures for a contaminated flu vaccine. Is there something else you're not telling me?"

Dr. Walker sighed in resignation. "Well, there is the matter of further cross-species contamination. Not all of the animals affected received the tainted compounds, yet they've all become infected. We suspect may spread through bodily fluids, such as blood, saliva, etcetera. We were moving some of the specimens around, and one escaped and got into a fight with another dog. The bitten dog showed the same symptoms shortly afterwards. Anyone working the labs is now required to have full body coverage before entering, since we don't know if it affects humans or not."

She nodded again, making a notation on the clipboard sheet. "I'll need to see the full report on the incident, as well as your action plan to make sure this compound doesn't harm anyone. There are three hundred townsfolk on this island, not counting the research facility staff. I would hate to see this affect anyone."

He held his hands out in a placating gesture. "Oh, don't worry, Miss Rushman! We're taking every precaution."

"Good. This sort of incident is the _last_ thing we want the press getting a hold of," she replied with a nod, hoping she had made a convincing impersonation of a corporate bureaucrat. "Now, the rest of the labs, please?"

Walker nodded sharply. "Right this way."

Sitwell's voice returned quietly. _"I don't like this, Widow. Those are the same doors they installed at the Hulkbuster facility. This next section is going to be hard to get out of if you're captured."_

She typed another quick text to Sitwell in reply as the man led her down the hallway. Her hand drifted closer to her hidden holdout pistol out of reflex. The entry into the facility, the amount of information given to her freely without a hint of suspicion… it still seemed too simple to the veteran agent. It might be time to fall back on her old favorite: interrogation by capture.

"_Plan B?"_ Sitwell squawked in the microphone. _"No, no, no, no, Natasha- Plan B is _not_ a good idea!"_

Her suspicions were confirmed when the heavy door locked behind her, and the pair were met by a trio of men, two of which stepped out of alcoves wearing yellow, full bodied suits. They were armed with machine guns, both pointed at her.

The third man, dressed in a sharp, tailored business suit, took hold of Dr. Walker, sliding an arm around his neck in a light choke-hold and pressing a pistol to the virologist's head. The scientist raised his hands in the air, giving her a confused, panicked look.

"Welcome to Rockhurst Island, Agent Romanoff," the man holding the pistol said, stepping back with his hostage. "I'd put your gun down on the floor and kick it over here, please. We wouldn't want Dr. Walker to have an accident."

She sighed in resignation, setting her pistol on the ground and kicking it slightly in front of her. As the pistol slid across the floor, Natasha suppressed the urge to smirk. Round one was about to begin.

* * *

_Nanook Bay, Alaska mainland…_

Natasha's last text made Sitwell's hackles rise. _This feels like a trap. Too easy._

The agent frowned as he watched the feed from Natasha's contact camera, along with a blueprint pulled from the SHIELD Intelligence database. "I don't like this, Widow. Those are the same doors they installed at the Hulkbuster facility. This next section is going to be hard to get out of if you're captured."

His phone chimed, indicating he had another text from Natasha. _Plan B._

"Plan B?" Sitwell squawked in the microphone. Coulson had warned him about her usual fallback plan. "No, no, no, no, Natasha- Plan B is _not_ a good idea!"

Natasha's infamous Plan B was to allow herself to be captured. Inevitably, the captors would try to interrogate her, and the Black Widow was good enough at reading people to pick out vital information as the interrogator continued their monologue. It was ridiculous how many villains gave away their plots by gloating over a "helpless" victim.

If the infiltration was appearing to be too easy to the veteran espionage agent, it probably was. He reached into the drawer next to him, pulling out his sidearm and setting it down on the desk. Reaching for his jacket, he had just pulled it on when the lights went out.

Grabbing the gun, he dove behind a nearby couch in time to miss the glass shattering next to him as a dark-suited figure crashed through the window.

"Phoenix, this is Warbucks," he whispered into his comm unit, hoping to get the message to Coulson in the event he was caught. "Safe house has been compromised. I repeat, we are compromised."

"_Evac, Warbucks,"_ Coulson's voice demanded. _"Get the hell out of there."_

Sitwell removed the safety, firing quickly at the figure. The humanoid outline fell back with a grunt as the door was kicked open, admitting two more assailants. He rolled to the side, firing again as two more men pulled themselves in through the window.

One of the men fell to the floor with a grunt while the other opened fire on his position. The SHIELD agent ducked, reaching into his jacket pocket. Pulling out a small cylinder, he pressed a button on the top and threw it over the couch before turning back and closing his eyes.

There was a loud _pop _followed by a flash. Three screeches confirmed that the men were armed with night-vision goggles, which had hopefully been disabled by the flashbang. Taking advantage of the distraction, the SHIELD agent ran out from behind the opposite end of the couch, charging towards the closest attacker. His eyes had begun to adjust, allowing him to make out the general layout of the room and the staggered men.

Sitwell continued his charge, slamming the man into wall. A quick elbow to the neck dropped the man to the floor with a gurgle. Turning quickly, he fired at the remaining two men, watching as they fell to the floor and remained still.

He holstered his pistol, picked up the closest thug's rifle and darted over to the window. Grabbing hold of the thick, heavy duty pipework running up the safe house wall, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and began to climb down. As the agent left the room, he could hear heavy footsteps of more armed men as they approached from the hallway.

Sliding down the rest of the way, he let go several feet from the ground and landed in a crouch. Looking up, he nodded to himself as he sprinted towards the end of the alley.

A shadow at the alley entrance rang warning bells in the agent's mind. Skidding to a stop, Sitwell froze as he found himself staring down the barrel of another automatic rifle as an armed goon stepped around the corner. He was soon joined by several others. Looking around, the agent counted six men, all heavily armed.

"I would suggest surrendering," the lead thug warned.

He set the rifle down slowly and raised his hands to coax one of the men towards him. The thug complied, reaching out to take hold of his wrist. As the man swung his arm down, he spun around and grabbed hold of the thug's wrist instead. Twisting sharply, he wrapped his other arm around the man's neck and took hold of his chin.

"Back away or I break his neck," Sitwell told the leader firmly. "Now, please."

The leader shrugged, moved his rifle slightly to the left and fired, hitting both the man and Sitwell in the left shoulder. The SHIELD agent had no choice but to release the goon as he was thrown back into the wall. He held a hand up to his shoulder as he hissed in pain.

Two more men moved in, aiming at his head this time. One stepped closer, his face hidden behind his ski mask. He raised his weapon again and struck the agent in the head with the rifle butt.

As Sitwell lost consciousness, he heard the leader speak again. "Nighty night, sweetheart."

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier Command Center…_

Compromised. Agent Phil Coulson was really starting to hate the word.

"_Safe house has been compromised. I repeat, we are compromised."_

_We _meant that Natasha had been taken as well. Barton was going to kill him.

Coulson took the headset off of his head, throwing it down onto the console in frustration. He felt a familiar tug in his chest, followed by a sharp pain. He reached into a pocket for his pills, opened the cap and shook one out.

Dry-swallowing the pill, he sat for a minute to allow the medication to kick in, pulling out his phone and selecting Director Fury's number from speed-dial. Moving to a secure briefing room, he quickly locked the door and found another chair to fall into. He waited for the familiar set of beeps that indicated the call had been secured.

Shortly afterwards, Fury's voice came on the line. _"Fury."_

"It's me. Our friends have been compromised."

"_How compromised?"_

"I'm not sure at this time. We're waiting for the satellite to move back into position to get the infra-red data, and I'm about to hit up Hill for one of the techs to hack into the local traffic network. All that I can say is that both have been captured by hostiles, but they appear to have wanted them alive."

"_Shit."_ Fury groaned, his voice sounding tired. _"What else are you not telling me yet?"_

Coulson reached for a bottle of water from a nearby cabinet, opened the lid and took a swig before answering. "They took out the safe house on the Nanook Bay docks and grabbed Sitwell. Agent Romanoff was taken onsite at Rockhurst Island. Jasper's last communication before the safe house was compromised is that the facility has an underground level secured by a heavy duty blast door that looks suspiciously like the ones they're putting into the Hulkbuster bunker."

"_What else?"_

"Natasha's trying for Plan B," the balding agent sighed. "I don't doubt she can get the information we need, but she's going to have a hell of a time getting out."

Fury swore again. _"What about the intel from her video feed? Did we get anything useful?"_

"We're working on identifying the unknown asset that met her on the lower level," Coulson recounted quickly, setting the bottle down on the table. "Romanoff got a close look at the test animals. If Barton's debrief from twenty years ago is anything to go off of, they're infected. The symptoms are identical to those infected by the original project. Project Red is back, Nick."

"_Fuck."_

Coulson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We need to contact Barton. He's been in this situation before. If there's an outbreak, I hate to say it, but we'll need him. There are civilians on the island, sir."

"_I'd rather not have him emotionally compromised so soon after Tuller, Coulson."_

"Director, he _wrote_ the necro-humanoid containment protocols. Besides- Natasha is his partner. If we keep this from him, he's going to be _upset_ with us, sir," Coulson argued. "We both know how well that tends to work out."

"_I'll talk to him myself."_

"Good. I'll need a team for the extraction."

"_You're not going, Phil,"_ the Director ordered. _"Stay on the carrier. We'll get a team ready, but they'll need tactical support on the carrier."_

"Hill can provide support just as well as I can."

"_You're not cleared for this, Phil!"_

Coulson frowned again. "I don't care if I'm not cleared or not. Two of our best are down on the ground in enemy hands facing a potentially fast-spreading biological agent. We need our best on this, Director."

The Director let out a snort of annoyance. _"I'll be in touch once I've spoken with Barton."_

Hanging up the phone, Coulson leaned back in his chair. Moments later, he stood and headed for Hill's office. Next would be a stop at the armory. He had an extraction to plan.


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Sorry for the long wait... this chapter had me in fits. With this chapter, it looks like we've hit the 100,000 word mark- thanks to all of you who have stuck with it!

* * *

_Stark Tower, Manhattan, the same morning…_

Clint woke with a start, frowning as he found himself in his apartment. His neck was stiff, possibly from being trapped in the same position on the couch all night. Looking down, he found his arm wrapped around Nicole's teddy bear.

His head pounded, as if he had spent an entire night drinking with Steve and Thor. What the hell had he been _doing_ last night?

Looking around, he found Arrow lying at his feet. The dog stirred as he moved to get up off of the couch, lifting his head up and staring at the archer. He whined, pawing gently at Clint's leg.

The archer laid a hand absently on Arrow's head, scratching him behind the ears. "What's up with you?"

Groaning, he lifted himself off of the couch and stretched, heading to the bathroom to freshen up and try to loosen his stiff back muscles up with a hot shower. To his surprise, the German Shepherd trailed after him, following his every move. He chuckled in amusement. The archer drew the line, however, when the dog attempted to follow him into the shower.

"Oh, no- you are _not_ getting in the shower with me," Clint chided, shooing Arrow out as he closed the bathroom door. He ignored the dog's muffled whines. "My apartment's not gonna smell like wet dog. _Damn_, you're clingy today."

The archer hoped he wouldn't open the door to find another destroyed toaster.

One steamy, long shower later, Clint finally took a look at his watch while brushing his teeth. He froze when he looked at the date displayed. Spitting out the toothpaste, he picked up the watch and tapped it. The display didn't change.

He frowned. "Uh, Jarvis? Why is it _Wednesday?_ Is my watch broken?"

"_It is in fact Wednesday, Agent Barton,"_ Jarvis's calm voice informed him. _"You have been unconscious since yesterday afternoon."_

"Oh. Where the hell did Tuesday go?" he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

"_There was an altercation, sir."_

Clint groaned, shaking his head as he dressed. "What _kind_ of altercation? Big green Other Guy-type, Thor-type, or Tony-induced altercation?"

"_A team from SHIELD arrived at approximately four twenty-three in the afternoon on Monday,"_ Jarvis informed him, the AI's voice taking on a slightly miffed tone. _"The team overrode my protocols, sir. I apologize for my inability to assist you."_

"Me?" Clint replied, stumbling as he dropped his jeans in surprise. "You mean they came here for _me?_"

"_Yes, sir. There was no valid reason found for their intrusion after Mr. Stark and the Stark Industries Legal Department investigated on your behalf. Until further notice, all SHIELD personnel have been barred access without an official warrant, with the exception of yourself and Agent Romanoff. Agent Chavez and his team have been granted temporary access to the guest quarters. I believe Sir is stepping up his attempts to recruit them again."_

"Uh, okay?" the agent replied cautiously, unconsciously tensing as he waited for the AI to drop the other shoe. "I'm uh, just gonna go down to the kitchen, I think."

"_Very well, sir. Shall I queue the security footage from the last two days for your review?"_

"Sure. I'll take a look later. Still doesn't explain why I feel like I just had a drinking contest with Thor, though."

"_That would be the result of the narcotic used to treat possible hypertonia localized in your neck and upper spinal regions, though I would suggest an official diagnosis from a trustworthy medical professional."_

"Dumb jock translation, please?"

"_You twisted your neck and upper back muscles, which left you mostly immobilized, sir."_

Clint chuckled as he finished dressing, deciding to forego his usual morning run. "And your programming didn't include a medical degree among everything else you can do?"

"_I wouldn't count full access to the WebMD database as equivalent experience, sir." _

"Whatever you say, J-man," he scoffed. Noticing something out of place as he passed one of his book stacks, the assassin frowned again and paused to correct the placement of one of the tomes.

"_Sir, you may wish to review the security footage poste-haste," _Jarvis warned_. "Mr. Stark has saved recordings of some of your more… _eccentric_ reactions."_

"Aw, _damn,_" Clint muttered, running a palm over his face. "What the hell did I _do_ yesterday?"

"_Shall I provide a list, sir? Unfortunately, I cannot account for the events while you were detained at SHIELD Headquarters,"_ the AI offered helpfully.

"Sure, why not?" He paused for a moment, wondering if the AI would go for his next suggestion. "I don't suppose you can keep any of it out of the Blackmail file?"

"_Regretfully, Sir has already added some of the footage to the file. Although, some of the footage _may_ be lost in the next security update." _

"I owe you one, Jarvis."

"_I'll add it to your account, sir,"_ the AI snarked. _"The list has been sent to your cellphone for your review."_

Sometimes Clint wondered if Tony realized just how sentient Jarvis was. Deciding to go down to the big kitchen for breakfast, the archer picked up his usual complement of backup weapons and headed for the elevator. He also wondered just what sort of favor the AI would ask for when Jarvis finally called in his markers.

He frowned again when he entered the elevator, taking note of what looked like formulas written on the wall in what looked like permanent marker. Glancing at his phone, he noticed the text from Jarvis, along with another text from Fury.

_Call me when you get back to normal._

He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee, sighing at the aroma. Thor was still asleep in his quarters, Tony was preparing to head back to Venice once they made sure Clint had recovered, and Steve had headed out for a run. Glancing down, he spotted the small stack of papers that Tony had collected from Barton.

The physicist tilted his head, feeling puzzled as he picked up a sheet to examine the formula.

Steve soon entered, dressed in jogging clothes.

"How was the run?" Bruce asked, watching as the supersoldier reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a container of juice, followed by a glass from a nearby cabinet.

"Pretty good. At least the rain cleared up," Steve commented before taking a drink from his glass.

His phone rang, and the Captain excused himself to take the call. As he wandered towards the living room, the physicist returned to the drawings lying on the table, his eyebrows raising as he attempted to work out what the formulas were supposed to represent.

The phone call was mercifully short, and Steve returned to the kitchen area with a frown. "That was Fury. He got the results back that Jarvis sent to Medical."

"What's the verdict?" Bruce asked, looking over the top edge of his glasses at the other man.

Steve shifted again, reaching for the juice container again to refill his glass. "Truth serum."

"_Truth serum?_" Tony asked, making his way into the kitchen and heading for the toaster. "Do tell!"

"Yeah," Steve continued. "One of the medical department staff thought they should take advantage of having a 'captive audience' who was trained in anti-interrogation, so she used a test drug instead of the normal one. Dr. Osterhouse was pretty upset- I could hear him in the background chewing her out. That guy never yells at _anyone_."

Tony cursed quietly as he finished buttering his toast, tossing his butter knife into the sink with more force than necessary. "And this person got away with it _how?_ Don't they control this kind of stuff? He's got drug allergies, so theoretically he should be the _last_ one they try it on."

"Well, he was in a lot of pain," Steve explained. "And it _does_ work as a muscle relaxer, but apparently it sort of relaxes almost _everything _as a side effect, including some inhibitions and brain-to-mouth filters, as Barton calls them."

Bruce snorted in annoyance. "That's gotta be some pretty powerful stuff, considering you said Clint's trained to resist this sort of thing. It looked like it overrode his filters completely."

Steve nodded. "If it helps any, she apparently dosed Tryche's team too, so at least we know it wasn't personal. They were just as bad as Barton, from what Fury said- like a bunch of drunken frat boys, or something like that."

"Remind me to acquire some of it," Tony told them with a grin. He reached over and tapped the pile of sketches. "So, Bruce- what do you make of these?"

"Well, I'm not sure what it's intended to be overall, but it _looks_ like an arrow," the physicist said, squinting at an unfamiliar scribble. "I don't recognize some of these symbols, but it looks like it's some sort of formula for energy conversion. I think. "

Tony snapped his fingers after tapping several times on his phone. "There's more. Here, take a peek."

A holographic projection of the pictures he had taken of the elevator walls appeared in front of them, showing the sloppily written equations and symbols on the paneling. There were several smears, as well as a couple of almost illegible trails of formulas written by two different hands.

"Who _wrote_ this? There's the same symbol here," Bruce commented, tilting his head as he retrieved one of the drawings. "And here. I'm not sure how it fits, to be honest, though I think I've seen them _somewhere_ before. This is just… "

"_Weird_." Tony finished, touching the hologram in several places and highlighting the unknown symbols.

"Jarvis? Can you run a comparison on all known mathematics and physics formulaic symbols? Let's see if there's a match."

"_There is no match in my database, sir," _Jarvis informed him less than a minute later_. "I have catalogued the symbols for your reference. Shall I forward them to a linguistics consultant?"_

"Nah, we've got one of those here," the inventor replied, waving hand dismissively. "I'll just ask Mr. Multi-talented once they get back from their little exercise break. If he can't figure it out, I think we have one on staff."

"Why don't you just ask Barton?" Steve asked, pointing at the hologram with his spoon. He returned to his cereal with a shrug. "He's the one who wrote it."

"Wrote what?" Barton's voice followed by his sudden appearance caused Tony to jump slightly. The light sound of nails clicking on the tile had been the only warning that they had arrived. Arrow followed closely to his left, his tail wagging. The archer shifted as the dog edged closer to him enthusiastically. "Damn it- give me some space here, Velcro!"

Tony still had not been able to get used to the way the two assassins were able to appear out of nowhere; he would swear they did it on purpose, just to give him a heart attack. He recovered and glared at Clint, who had walked past the small group to grab the coffee pot. "Can you just _not_ do that for once?"

"_Constant vigilance_," Barton quoted with a sly grin as he reached into a cabinet for some dog food and poured a small amount in a bowl for Arrow. "What are you science-heads looking at?"

"This," Bruce said, pointing to the hologram. "We're trying to figure out what the meanings of these symbols are. Steve's got a point, though. Do you recognize any of them?"

"I'll take a look in a minute here, provided my head clears up. I understand the last couple of days have been pretty interesting."

The other men frowned collectively. Bruce tilted his head, watching the agent take the coffee pot with a purple handle, along with a muffin and a piece of fruit to the table. There were no visible signs that Clint had been affected by any of the events from the last two days.

"Interesting would be putting it mildly," Steve retorted, shaking his head as the SHIELD agent began drinking directly from the coffee pot.

"Well, considering I don't remember anything since Monday, I'd say so," Clint countered dryly. His eyes narrowed at Tony. "Hey- _wait_ a second. Aren't you supposed to be on vacation? In _Europe?_"

"I _was_ in Venice, until I got a call back right after we got to the villa saying I had to come back to rescue _your_ loopy ass," Tony replied dryly as he focused on the picture. His thoughts were interrupted by a slight _thump _as a section of muffin hit the side of his head. He turned to see Barton staring at him with an incredulous look.

"What the hell are you still _doing_ here, Stark? She's going to murder you if you don't get your ass on a jet and get back there," Barton told him firmly, making a shooing motion. "What the hell are you waiting for, dumbass? _Shoo!_"

"Hey, now, I'm just waiting to make sure you're fine," Tony began to argue. "Not to mention I have to do the upgrades to Jarvis' firewalls."

The archer shook his head. "I'm good. I appreciate your concern, but look- this is your first vacation in years, and you need to go back to Venice and enjoy pampering your girlfriend. I've got the guys here to help if something comes up. Just _go_. Trust me- you'll regret it if you don't hurry. Don't keep the lady waiting!"

Bruce and Steve nodded in agreement.

"Uh," Tony started, torn between wanting to ensure that nobody invaded his security again, protecting his stuff, and incurring more of Pepper's wrath. "Yeah. Pepper. I'm just gonna… "

"Yeah," Barton said softly, making the shooting motion again. "Go have fun."

As Tony jogged out of the room and towards his bedroom to collect his suitcase, Steve chuckled. "Good luck, man."

Clint spotted a stack of papers on the table that had been the subject of the scientists' scrutiny. He picked up one of the sheets to take a look for himself. "What's this stuff?"

"We were hoping _you_ could tell _us_," Bruce replied, sorting the sheets out so that they could get a better look. "Apparently, you started writing and drawing all of this at Headquarters when they were holding you, and you sort of finished another section of it when you decorated the elevator."

Clint put his muffin down. "Wait a minute- was it during the time I'm missing? From yesterday or something?"

Steve nodded. "One of the medics drugged you after you pulled a back muscle. You were kind of, ah… "

"I think 'high as a kite' would be the phrase you're looking for," Bruce offered, snickering lightly. "We're blaming the narcotic. Oh, that reminds me. Thumb, please."

Clint moved his hand closer, allowing the physicist to take hold of his thumb and press it to a small metallic box. There was a sharp click, much like the needle-prick from a cholesterol or blood glucose test. He winced, pulling his finger back after Bruce gave him a quick nod, then took another look at the paper and groaned.

It was an arrow design. Another crazy, hypothetical and supposedly scientifically impossible arrow design. This one, however, was definitely _not_ inspired by a boomerang.

His head dropped to the surface of the table with a dull _thump, _nearly smashing the muffin. "Oh, God. Not _again_."

"Pardon me?" Bruce asked. "Again?"

"One of the agents mentioned he's prone to coming up with some whoppers when it comes to arrow designs, generally when he's loopy," Steve recounted, shrugging lightly at the physicist's amused smile as the SHIELD agent banged his head repeatedly on the table. "I don't see why it bothers you, Barton. It actually looks pretty interesting."

"_Bothers_ me? What _bothers_ me," Clint replied with an annoyed look, "is that I get these _ideas_ when I'm either drunk or euphoric and once I'm sober, it takes _forever_ to figure out how I came up with it in the first place."

"Well, we can look at it with you, if you want. Maybe between all of us, we can help figure it out. I could contact Erik Selvig," Bruce offered, laying the sheet he was holding back on the table as the archer gave him a glare. "Or we skip calling Erik. So, about the last one of these you did- why a boomerang arrow?"

"Because," Clint replied, giving him an incredulous look. "_Boomerangs_."

"Fair enough. Now, in regards to these formulas," Bruce replied, pulling up the document that Jarvis had collected with the unknown symbols, "I don't recognize any of these."

The archer scrutinized the symbol closely, letting out a breath as he focused. "That one's _svulst. _It's kind of like _pi_, I think. Didn't really cover that one in Physics 101, I don't think."

"That's because they _don't_, Clint," Bruce replied firmly. "I know you took advanced Physics courses as part of your degree- you can't tell me that you recall these being covered in any of them."

"Not that I can think of."

"Erik said the same thing after I asked him about his notes. Which SHIELD confiscated again, by the way."

"Such a shame," Clint deadpanned. "He filed a complaint, I'm sure?"

Bruce nodded slowly. He stood up and walked to the kitchen counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out a notepad and pen. The physicist wrote down a long string of numbers and formula symbols before setting the pad down in front of Clint. "What can you tell me about this equation?"

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed as he picked up the pen. After less than a minute of staring at it, he shrugged and wrote a number down, then slid it back towards Bruce.

Bruce took a look at the paper, letting out a sigh. He picked up the notepad and held it in front of him, showing it to Steve. "_See?_ This is what I'm talking about."

Steve gave him a confused look. "I don't see…"

"This is a theoretical energy conversion that stumped the SHIELD R and D department on Phase Two. They were working on it for a year- ever since Thor took down that automaton in New Mexico," Bruce explained. "This was worked on by multiple energy and matter specialists, but they couldn't get the ratios on the potential energy outputs right."

He set the pad down, tossing the pen on top of it. "After Erik was released from SHIELD Medical following the Loki incident, he solved this equation in order to help design the Tesseract containment unit so that Thor could take it back to Asgard. Clint just solved it after seeing it once."

The archer shrugged nervously. "I'm just good with math."

"You bounced a _hairpin_ off of four different objects and broke a glass in that club Tony dragged us to four months ago after the guy hassled Natasha. You're a human trajectory calculator," Bruce replied with a snort. "That's not just 'good with math' in my opinion."

"So what does this have to do with why you're annoyed?" Clint asked cautiously. "I can do formulas. It's not a big deal."

"You and Eric have been given information that could change physics as we _know_ it. Erik's research has accelerated rapidly since you both were exposed to the cube," the physicist answered passionately, hunching over slightly. "Clean energy, fuel development… the applications are endless. You don't know energy like Erik or I do, but you can work out the math since at least you know the missing pieces."

The physicist's hands clenched in frustration as he spoke. "We're talking Nobel prize potential, here. What makes me mad is the fact that everything is so classified regarding the Tesseract that you and Erik can't even _publish_ anything."

The SHIELD agent gave him a puzzled look. "Why the hell would I want to publish anything?"

Bruce groaned, his head falling onto the table. "Barton, you're _killing_ me."

Steve and Clint looked at each other and shrugged.

Their attention was drawn by a large yawn, followed by a large, blond figure walking into the kitchen, stumbling slightly like a drunken bear. Bruce snorted in amusement; either Thor was less of a morning person than they thought, or he was still getting used to the time difference between Asgard and Earth.

If there was a time difference, that was.

The Asgardian prince had spent most of the day before sitting in front of a laptop that seemed to be firmly attached to Reagan's hip as the tech tried in vain to introduce him to the world of online role-playing games. After trying multiple times to name a character after himself and failing, Thor had grumbled loudly and nearly thrown the laptop across the room.

Reagan had quickly caught the small machine and switched tactics by switching to a more traditional offline role-playing game where a player could name their characters whatever they wanted. While Thor was still getting used to Earth's technology, he was a fast learner and began flying through the levels.

Bruce had asked what the Asgardian had found so entertaining about the games. It had been a long time since he played them himself, and he had lost touch with the latest hits. Thor had explained that while his own power was mighty and nearly infinite, the small characters were not, and he hoped to learn more about "mortal limitations" by playing the simulations.

Tony had just smiled and told Jarvis to order a fully decked-out gaming rig as well as twenty of the top rated games listed on Amazon.

"When did you get back?" Barton asked. "I thought you were dealing with that elf problem."

Thor perked up slightly, and he gave them a bright smirk. "Ah! I am glad to see you up and about, my friend. You were quite... what was it that the Metal Man called it? Loopy?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "So I've heard."

"I found it to be an interesting change, Hawk," the prince replied, reaching for the second coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. He hadn't lost his fondness for the drink, and Jarvis made sure to always have a pot brewing. "We had quite the discussion about elemental conversions when we were waiting for Fury to release you."

"Elemental… _what?_" The archer's eyes widened, and he glanced down to the sketches again. "C-conversions?"

"Of course! I had not known you to be so well versed in mathematics, my friend."

Bruce's eyes lit up. "So you might know about these symbols? We're trying to work them out. So far, Clint has pointed out this one as '_svulst' _I believe?"

Thor made a sour face. "I remember that one well. My tutor would force me to recite it to the thousandth place mark when I misbehaved. I was somewhat of an unruly child, so I got to know the number well. If anything, it was an excellent memory exercise."

"Thor, my friend," Bruce told him, clapping a hand firmly on his shoulder, "I think we are going to have to have a long sitdown with Erik over this. It sounds like you can help translate for those of us who didn't have a Tesseract-style introduction to interstellar physics."

"Interstellar physics," Steve repeated skeptically.

The physicist shrugged. "I figure it'll work until we figure out a better name."

As the others chatted amiably over their breakfasts, Clint finished his muffin and wiped up the crumbs. There was no sense leaving a mess. Pulling out his phone, he left the kitchen and headed for the balcony to review the security recording playback and make his phone call to Fury.

* * *

_Rockhurst Island, later in the afternoon…_

Natasha frowned as a handcuffed Jasper Sitwell was dragged into the storage room and deposited on the floor next to her. The bald agent was slightly bruised on his left cheek, with a split lip and a darkening bruise that would grow into a large shiner. A red stain surrounded a hole in his shirt; a white bandage showed underneath the cloth.

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as he winced while shifting to a more comfortable position.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that! I don't know how they managed to locate me, Romanoff. Someone's compromised the safe house network. From the sound of it, they knew you were coming, too. In fact, didn't _you_ get grabbed before _I_ did?"

They smirked at each other, falling into a familiar pattern of friendly insults. Phase one of Plan B was complete, though she honestly hadn't expected Jasper to get captured along with her. It was both a blessing and a curse; while she no longer had backup on the ground, at least she had an accomplice to help plot her escape.

She wasn't too worried about his ability to handle the coming interrogation. Jasper was also a SHIELD interrogator, so he knew roughly what to expect. All they could do was wait at this point.

* * *

_Stark Tower, the same afternoon…_

Chavez gave his hair one last rub as he stepped out of the locker room at the Tower gym, combing it back into place. It was getting a little long; he reminded himself to stop by a barber shop soon to get it trimmed. As he collected his gym bag, he was stopped by a polished, familiar voice.

"_Pardon me, Agent Chavez,"_ Jarvis asked. The others looked up from where they were cleaning up their own workout gear in preparation to head back upstairs. _"If I may have a moment?"_

"Sure, Jarvis. What's up?"

"_Dr. Banner has asked me to advise you that Agent Barton has regained consciousness. He believes that you would be the most qualified person here to analyze Agent Barton's condition and send a report to SHIELD,"_ the AI replied. "_There is also a visitor in the West Lobby requesting to see Agent Barton who will need to be escorted to the upper levels. There are no other cleared personnel available at the moment."_

"Sure. We're on our way back upstairs anyway."

As they passed into the lobby, they found Director Fury waiting for the same elevator, holding a metal briefcase and wearing an annoyed frown. The spymaster was wearing his usual attire: a black SHIELD uniform covered by a long, leather trench coat. His sidearm was in its usual place on his right leg.

"Sir," Chavez greeted, nodding to his superior. "We weren't expecting you."

The Director replied, arching an eyebrow. "I don't normally make house calls."

"Jarvis said you needed to see Agent Barton. I thought senior personnel just sort of, uh, go up?"

"Stark's AI is designed to adapt," Fury explained. "After the incident the other day, it started blocking the firewall ports that our software uses to access the security protocols before Stark got back. Smart bastard, for a bunch of microchips."

"Yes sir," the Minion team leader replied with a wry smile. The six men squeezed into the elevator, maintaining an awkward silence and ignoring the graffiti on the rear paneling that someone had scribbled. Fury took a look at the markings and snorted in amusement. Chavez took the opportunity to dig into his bag for his smaller medical kit.

Soon, the floor indicator _pinged, _opening on the guest levels. The rest of the Minions filed out quietly, heading for the guest quarters. Oyuki held out his hands for Chavez's bag. The agent handed it over and stepped back in. He started to reach for the control panel, but before he could press any buttons, an indicator light turned red. The elevator quietly moved upwards for a short trip.

The doors opened once they had reached the upper levels. There was a whoosh of compressed air, and the agents found themselves and the elevators dusted with white extinguisher powder. The cloud cleared quickly, revealing one of Stark's robots. It _blooped_ at the pair, waving a nozzle at them with quick, choppy movements.

Fury blinked twice, reaching for his sidearm out of reflex. He was starting to hate Stark's creations. Before he could draw his weapon, the robot stopped, scooted forward, and finally rolled backwards out of the way, its nozzle hanging as if it had been scolded.

"_Dummy, that is not the way to greet visitors or guests. My apologies, sirs,"_ Jarvis said, his clipped tones holding a hint of satisfaction. _"Director Fury, Agent Barton is on the patio. I have notified him of your arrival."_

They entered a well decorated - if slightly damaged - common area and kitchen. A den and living room sat towards the far end of the floor, complete with long, comfortable-looking couches and a large flat panel monitor or television; Chavez couldn't tell which one it was from where they were standing. The robot trailed behind them, beeping softly and rapidly while a smaller Roomba-like robot rolled over to the elevator.

Captain Rogers, Thor, and Dr. Banner sat around the large dining table. They halted their conversation and looked at the newcomers expectantly as the SHIELD agents entered the room. Chavez looked around, but did not see Agent Barton among them.

"Gentlemen," Fury greeted, his hands held behind his back in a relaxed stance after dusting himself off.

The three seated men pointed their thumbs towards the large patio deck before returning to their conversation. Nodding in thanks, Fury made his way in the indicated direction.

"Chavez, stay put while Barton and I have a little chat," the Director ordered, stopping and looking back over his shoulder.

The younger agent nodded nervously, already feeling out of place. He stood awkwardly, unsure if he should move to parade rest, come to attention, or stay at ease.

"Come, liege-man! I wish to converse," Thor said in his strong timbre, holding his coffee cup as if it were a flagon of mead. The others smiled warmly, sensing the young man's discomfort. "The Allspeak is useful, but lacks much of the eloquence of speaking in one's native tongue. Tell me, my young friend, have you been keeping up on your study of runic scripts as we discussed at our last encounter?"

As Chavez smiled and took the indicated seat, Fury stepped out onto the balcony to find Barton sitting on a small bench located just below Stark's assembly platform that had been nicknamed the "car wash." The archer was looking at his phone with a deep frown. His dog lounged on the bench next to him, its head lying on Barton's leg. The Director cleared his throat, setting the briefcase down next to him.

The dog sat up at Fury's approach and let out a low growl.

"Thought I was on stand down," Barton observed dryly, his hand moving to the dog's head and patting it lightly. "You don't typically visit when the Council's pissed at me."

"This isn't exactly a social call."

"It never is, these days. God _damn_ it," the archer replied, continuing to focus on the device. His frown turned to a scowl as he looked up at the Director. "That fucker kicked my dog!"

"Barton, this is more important," Fury told the other agent, ignoring Barton's indignant look. "Someone's been fucking around with Project Red again."

For a moment, Clint wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. The Director's statement hung in the air like the aftermath of a bombshell that had just gone off. Then he paled. Setting his phone down, he inhaled and clenched his fists. "I'm just gonna pretend you didn't say that."

"Clint, we're looking at possible AIM collaboration this time. Agents Romanoff and Sitwell were on the ground investigating and have missed two check-ins already. The last communication we had was from Sitwell right before the safe house was hit. We're assuming they've been captured by hostile forces."

"You gotta be… You mean you sent them in there?" Barton asked, standing quickly. "Did they even _know_ what they were getting into?"

"Romanoff's known about it for a while. She stole your file when she first joined up," Fury explained quietly. "We read Sitwell in on the situation, but we didn't give him all the personal details. They knew what they could be facing, and they did so willingly."

Barton ran both hands over his face and groaned. "It's just one thing after another, isn't it?"

The Director remained quiet as the archer began to slowly pace along the edge of the patio, his dog trailing his steps and whining in confusion.

"You need me to go in after them," Barton stated, crossing his arms over his chest. He whirled around angrily to face the spymaster. "God fucking _damn_ it. You said this shit had been _cleaned up_. There was _no_ possible bit of it left behind- that it was _gone_!"

"There are never any guarantees with this thing, Clint- you know that."

"You lied to me, Nick. You _knew_ it could come back into play, and you fucking _lied_ to me."

The Director merely watched him, not bothering to defend himself.

Barton's pacing grew faster as he became more agitated. "Is this why you had me write those protocols?"

"I had you write those protocols just in case some _other_ nut job pulled the same shit," Fury explained slowly, keeping a steady eye on the other agent. "Mellarne wasn't the only one with a biology degree and a bankrupt set of morals. The vaccine was the only thing _we_ kept."

"Why the hell would you keep even a vaccine sample?" Clint asked, his voice rising in frustration. "You do realize that part of most vaccines _is_ the original fucking virus? That's what caused_ half the problem the first time!_"

"We never expected to need it, but unfortunately we didn't foresee a Senator getting involved in the God damn super-soldier experiments again. We're checking the Vault to try to find out if someone made off with our sample," the Director explained with his usual calm.

"Sir?" a younger, calmer voice asked from behind them. They turned to see Chavez standing next to the open patio door. "Is everything alright out here?"

Thor, Banner, and Rogers had all stood up from their chairs, alerted to the archer's raised voice. The senior agents could see the three watching them with concern. Barton gave them a quick nod to signal he was alright. The others returned to their seats, but continued to watch the patio while Chavez shut the door after stepping onto the patio. Barton was not the type to yell when he was angry; this was the first time his housemates had heard that the man was capable of it outside of combat.

"This is a private conversation," Fury told Chavez sharply, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

"Sir, Agent Barton is under my care at the moment. I'm no doctor, but even I know it's not good to stress a person who recently suffered from a concussion. A concussion given by a member of the team you yourself sent." The younger agent straightened, giving the older man a hard stare. A significant pause followed before Chavez added, "Sir."

Fury's eye narrowed. "I am aware of that, agent."

"Then you're also aware of SHIELD's policies about sending a field operative out on an operation when they haven't been cleared by Medical," Chavez commented firmly, giving Barton a sidelong glance. "Agent Barton has been drugged with an experimental substance, suffered severe muscle spasms and was concussed. There's no way in Hell I'm sending a request for clearance until I've talked to Dr. Osterhouse. He shouldn't be going anywhere, sir."

"Your objection has been noted. The good doctor will be arriving shortly to take care of that concern." The Director paused, his facial expression shifting from annoyed to slightly speculative. "What makes you think Barton's going anywhere?"

"You don't make social calls, sir."

Fury's eyebrow twitched again.

"If you're here and arguing with Agent Barton instead of chewing him out in your office, then that means there's probably a big problem, sir," Chavez continued firmly. The younger agent made no move to leave, standing his ground at parade rest. "_Especially_ if you're asking Doc Osterhouse to come here. He doesn't do house calls either."

Fury turned his head back towards Barton, giving the archer a baleful look. Barton, his angry rant broken by the sudden act of a junior agent talking back to Fury, shrugged innocently. Fury ignored his poor attempt at hiding an amused snort; it had been years since a younger agent read the spymaster the riot act. With a quick, light jerk of his head, the Director urged the archer to move with him further out of hearing distance from the younger agent.

"This is all _your_ fault, you know," Fury growled in irritation, lowering his voice. "Your damn minions are trying to ruin my credibility."

"Why the hell would it be _my_ fault? They're Sitwell's minions, not mine," the archer argued quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. If Barton and Fury hadn't just been arguing, the elder agents would be amused by the situation.

Fury rolled his eye, giving the other veteran agent a skeptical glance. "Try telling that to the rest of SHIELD and the Council. Look, Barton, are you okay with this mission or not?"

"You know the answer to that already," Barton snapped angrily. "Of course I'll go. I need details. Give me _everything_ you've kept on Project Red this time, Nick. And once we're done with this, I'm through."

Fury barely hid his look of surprise. A quick glance to the door showed no sign that Chavez had overheard. The last thing they needed was word getting around the junior agents that Hawkeye was ready to leave SHIELD service.

He turned back to face Barton. "You don't want to throw it all away, Clint. _Eighteen_ years of service? You'll end it, just like that? You know _damn_ well the Council won't let you just up and quit."

"_Watch_ me, Nick." The archer drew himself up to his full height, looking up at the spymaster defiantly. "I am sick and _tired_ of this. The lies, the crazy missions, losing Laura and the kids… I have had to put up with too much shit this year alone, had my brain turned inside out at least twice, and to find out that you've kept _this_ from me? Of all the things you've lied and connived about, _this_ one takes the prize. I am _done_."

The Director closed his eye and sighed in dissatisfaction. "Clint, you know we need you."

"Bullshit," Barton spat. "I'm getting too old for this, Nick. You've got plenty of snipers that can hit a damn target and have half the baggage that I do. SHIELD doesn't need me anymore."

"Snipers, while specialized, are replaceable," Fury asked crossly. "You, however, are _not_. I don't need a sharpshooter. I've _got_ all the marksmen I need."

He ignored the German Shepherd's warning growls and looked the shorter man in the eyes. "What I _do_ need, dumbass, is _you_. I need the man who organized and executed a plan to cripple the Helicarrier with limited resources and less than a week of planning time. I need the man that noticed that little hitch about the Tesseract being a two-way door when all the geeks missed it. What I _need_ is another person I can actually trust."

Barton nearly shook with anger. "Trust has to go both ways, _sir_."

"I trust you, Barton. Even if you don't trust yourself," Fury replied softly. He held up a finger and touched the archer's forehead, tapping it as he spoke. "I trust the brainwashed killer who refused to take. The. Headshot."

Barton seemed to ponder the Director's words. His brow furrowed, and he looked up to Fury as if about to speak when the Director shook his head again, guessing at what the archer was thinking about. He knew the younger agents had heard stories of the attack and that many of them feared Barton, but they feared him for all the wrong reasons. At least most of Ops still treated the man like they had prior to Loki. It worried him that Barton's attempts to recover from the Loki Incident over the last year seemed to be unraveling; the man was relapsing.

"Forget about the idiots that can't understand the difference between a turncoat and mental hijacking. The only one you should be worried about when it comes to trust is me, you, Romanoff, Coulson, and the other senior agents," Fury admonished quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Can I count on your help without you pulling the same shit you did the last time?"

"Yes, sir," Barton confirmed in a clipped tone.

Fury picked up the briefcase and held it up for the other agent to take. Opening the case, Barton found a laptop and several files nestled securely inside, along with an Intel package of satellite photographs and analyst recommendations. He looked back up at Fury, clenching his jaw in determination.

"Good. How about we get this latest shit-storm under control, and then we'll talk about whether or not you still want that early retirement," the Director offered, giving Chavez another quick glance. "All the details are in there. Strike Team Mike is at your disposal, and Strike Team Echo will be deploying to assist you once they've wrapped their current mission up. I'd give you Bravo, but they're on their way to Columbia to deal with a hostage situation."

"Sir," Barton called, regaining his composure. "If things go south, I'll probably have to call in a couple favors. I know we're stretched thin at the moment, so I don't want-"

"Don't you even _think_ about finishing that sentence," Fury interrupted, narrowing his eye. "We sent Romanoff and Sitwell in to scout. That scouting mission has evolved into an assault operation. You will _not_ take them on by yourself. You recall how well that worked out for you the last time, or do I need to give you a reminder?"

At Barton's hesitant look, the Director sighed in frustration. "We're prepared this time, Clint. We know what we're dealing with and how to handle it. With you to lead the team, and with an actual containment plan in place, I have every confidence that everyone will come out of this with minimal hang-ups."

There was another pause as the archer contemplated the changes between the current situation and the previous cluster-fuck it had been the first time around. He straightened, and looked Fury in the eye. "Nick?"

Fury arched an eyebrow. Barton gave him a sharp nod. "Thanks for the kick in the ass."

The spymaster waved it off, and turned again to leave. "Anytime."


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

* * *

_Rockhurst Island, the same day…_

They came for Natasha first.

Jasper had given her a knowing look as the yellow-suited thugs entered the cell. She gave him a slight nod and a reassuring smile before turning to face their captors. They each took an elbow and marched her out of the storage room. Natasha smirked inwardly; the cuffs encircling her wrists were a common type used by many security companies and police. She had learned to pick locks as a pre-teen, and it would be child's play to escape them once she and Sitwell were done collecting information.

As they descended further, the corridors lost the sterile, white appearance of the upper labs as the lights took on a yellow hue. The effect created a faintly sinister atmosphere. Instead of manufactured walls, there were catwalks and cave walls. Natasha gave her arms a slight shiver; they had taken her peacoat after she had been captured, most likely to soften her up before they began the questioning. They would expect her to be affected by the cold.

Natasha's attention was drawn to the cave walls, which were lined with transparent safety glass every few feet as they entered a detainment area. Between each cell - filled with test subjects for the researchers to observe - was a door that led to an airlock separating the cell from the corridor.

Housed in each cell were humans showing signs of an infection, though they appeared to be suffering from more than the Project Red virus. Some of the subjects had formed thick, rough patches of skin, almost like lesions or armor plates. Others showed misshapen limbs, as if they had hit a sudden growth spurt that stopped suddenly. Natasha knew that she had seen the effect before, but at the moment she couldn't place it.

Each prisoner was covered with sweat, grease, and blood. Their red eyes nearly glowed as they charged the front of their cells, screeching and growling in animal-like rage. Several attempted to chew their way through the glass, leaving behind smears of blood and saliva. Others took out their inability to get to the guards and Natasha on their own limbs, biting and scratching themselves in frustration.

Finally, the three entered a room where she was pushed into a sturdy, metal chair while a man in a suit observed. Her forearms and legs were secured with duct tape to the chair as he slowly walked around her chair, sizing her up. Once finished with their tape, the guards stepped back as two more yellow-suited figures stepped into the room. The four guards stood quietly, their weapons trained on her.

"You _are_ a vision," he commented, running a finger lightly along the goosebumps that had formed on her upper arms. She shivered out of reflex. "Your reputation precedes you, Miss Romanoff."

"Unfortunately, yours does not," she replied, watching his eyes and face for any tells.

He smiled. "Of course not. My work doesn't hold as much prestige as SHIELD, or the Red Room, but it does pay the bills."

The man stood straight, fixing her with a calculating stare. "It's unfortunate that the security here is so lax, of course. You should never have made it past the upper levels. If not for the good doctor, we might not be having this conversation."

"Is he dead?" Natasha asked, studying the suited man. She had been wondering what had happened to Dr. Walker. If this group was truly joined with AIM, then the jittery virologist may have a chance to survive what could be seen as a betrayal. The organization didn't like to waste good brainpower.

"Dr. Walker is not dead, per se," he answered, sitting down in a chair positioned across from her. "He won't be joining polite company for some time though."

_If he wasn't dead, he'll wish he was,_ Natasha's mind translated. _Most likely he's been added to the next batch of test subjects. _

"So," he continued, "I'm left here wondering what a SHIELD agent is doing inspecting one of our remote facilities. Care to enlighten me?"

Natasha remained silent, forcing a shiver every now and then to try to project the image that she was weaker from the cold. She switched to Nervous Look #13, giving a slight pursing to her lips. The suited man smiled further as her exhales formed small clouds of frost.

"Natasha, Natasha. May I call you Natasha?" Slimy Suit Man asked, leaning forward. "You're so _cold_. The temperature below ground gets incredibly low, and this suit of yours, while _exquisite_, is definitely not appropriate for this room."

He motioned for one of the guards, who brought in her peacoat and a folded, woolen blanket. Natasha allowed her eyes to dart to them, shifting to Hopeful Look #5. She allowed herself a slight tremor, glancing back to him. "The suit goes perfectly with my coat. I don't suppose it's too much to ask for it back?"

"Now, that depends on _you_, my dear." The man stood, walking slowly over to her, picking up the coat and hanging it over his arm. "Have you ever been struck in zero degree temperatures? The pain grows the colder it gets. Every nerve feels like it's on _fire_."

"I'm Russian," she replied, giving another tremor. "But, I'll admit, a fire would feel very nice at the moment."

Her face was rocked to the side by the hard slap to her cheek. The nerves stung like pinpricks, and the chill fell to a dull ache while the skin began warming for a short time. It wasn't the heaviest slap she had ever received in an interrogation, but the cold was making things interesting. She would have to remember it the next time Fury asked her to question someone.

She decided on Hurt Look #2, giving her lips a small quiver. "That was _unnecessary_… "

"Consider it a warning. Striking women is not my favorite thing to do," he replied with a smirk. "Call me old fashioned that way, but, in this line of work… well, let's just say I'm willing to put those feelings aside to serve my country."

"I'm not sure how any of this," Natasha motioned around the room with a jerk of her chin, "is serving your country. You're… you're creating _monsters_."

"No more than any of the other super-soldier programs," another voice cut in. Another suited man walked into her view. "But then, SHIELD's been having a hard time keeping up with the times, now haven't they, Agent Romanoff?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Senator Bradley."

Natasha wasn't surprised to see Senator Walter Bradley, the man who was currently heading up the Senate Committee overseeing what SHIELD suspected were government-sponsored projects intended to re-create Dr. Erskine's Super-Soldier Serum. Fury had hoped to confirm whether or not the man was involved in the new project. It was too bad her contact lens had been taken after she had been captured.

Theoretically, they shouldn't have been able to find the lens, but now she knew why they had; the good Senator would be familiar with some of SHIELD's technology, having been involved in their biotech research at SHIELD R&D. That information coupled with AIM's scientific knowledge told them precisely which detection scans to run on their prisoners.

She smiled inwardly. The senator was known for having loose lips when he thought he was in charge, as well as a tendency to gloat. Capturing a notorious SHIELD agent such as herself was bound to be a large boost to his ego. Judging by the look on Mr. Slimy Suit's face, his presence in the interrogation hadn't been expected or welcomed. Bradley was overconfident.

Natasha planned on exploiting that overconfidence.

* * *

"You're doing it wrong," Jasper Sitwell commented, giving his interrogator a bored look. "Open-handed slaps are fine if you want to stretch it out, but really- you're going to give yourself tendinitis if you keep this up."

The man struck him again, this time with a backhand. Jasper's head jerked to the side, turning with the impact to try to absorb the blow. This guy was a rookie, in his opinion. All brawn and almost no brains- based on the interrogator's demeanor, this was definitely not an AIM flunky.

Sitwell sighed with annoyance, turning his head back to face the thug. "Guys like you never listen when someone tries to give you advice."

The interrogation had been going on like this for half an hour. Luckily for Jasper, he had gotten the less talented of the interrogators; this one used brute force to try to get information. Most likely they had saved their professional torturer for Agent Romanoff. She was the more notorious of the two SHIELD agents, and the men had most likely thought she would be harder to crack.

"Tell us how long you've been watching us here," the goon asked. "How long has SHIELD known about the project?"

"You're going to lead with that? Pathetic," Jasper commented. "Aren't you supposed to soften me up with some warm coffee, or offers to pay me with my freedom?" There was a blank look from the confused thug. "No? Aw, too bad."

The man looked at him strangely.

"What's your name?" Sitwell asked, keeping an eye on the man's face. A person expressed so many emotions based on their facial expressions, and every one of them could tell him how to turn the conversation. As the man continued to gawk at him, he huffed again in annoyance, trying not to shake in the icy, cold room. "Well, if you won't tell me your name, how do you expect me to negotiate with you? Bill. You look like a Bill."

There were several chuckles from the yellow-suited guards. The thug glared at them, causing them to fall silent.

"I'm not Bill- " the man started, watching Sitwell warily. He raised his hand to strike the SHIELD agent again. His eyes shifted towards the SHIELD agents wounded shoulder.

Sitwell's voice caused him to pause. "Wow, you're kinda new at this. Okay, Not-Bill, the first thing you're supposed to do is offer me my freedom in lieu of information, or possibly a spot within your company."

"I don't work for these geeks," Not-Bill replied sourly, ignoring the grumbles from the AIM guards. Bill grunted in annoyance, reaching out to Sitwell's shoulder and clamping down. He pressed firmly with his thumb, putting pressure on the bandaged wound. "I work for Mr. Cobalt. He's not hiring."

So _that_ was the name of their main "troubleshooter." The SHIELD agent fought back the urge to cry out as the man pressed harder. After the man removed his hand, Sitwell sighed. "Offer first, _then_ physical tactics. There's a whole build-up to this process, and if you scare the target too quickly, they're going to clam up and just piss themselves, and that doesn't help anybody, now does it?"

"Come on, Kevin- listen to the guy! You might learn something, meathead," one of the guards stage-whispered helpfully.

"_Kevin?_ I think I like Not-Bill better. Or just Bill," Sitwell replied, giving him a pleasant smile. The larger man was more likely to get flustered and spill his guts without realizing it than to actually be able to turn the situation around. He hoped Romanoff was having as much luck with her group.

The agent smiled again. "How long have you been doing this, Kevin?"

Kevin gave him an unsure look. "Two… years."

"Interrogation, or intimidation?"

"What?"

"I'll assume intimidation, then. I have just one question for you then," Jasper told him, staring him in the eye and trying his best to channel Phil Coulson and his terrifying calm. He hoped the reddened cheeks and darkening shiner didn't throw off the effect.

The other man narrowed his eyes. While the man was focused on his face, the SHIELD agent began pulling his hands into his sleeves, portraying an attempt to keep them warm. Feeling along the inner seam of his sleeve, he found the faint bulge of the small metal strip that he had sewn in several years ago. It was a small but sturdy piece of metal with a serrated edge and a pointed tip.

Sliding the metal strip forward, he held back a wince as he poked his finger with the sharp end and transferred it to his palm. The improvised lockpick would hopefully be able to cut through the tape quickly enough to free him if Kevin pushed things too far. He wasn't as good at this method as Natasha or even Barton; there was only so much of a beating Jasper was willing to take in order to wheedle information out of a target.

Kevin gave him another quizzical look. He lowered his hand.

Sitwell gave him a solemn stare. "Is this _really_ what you want to do with your life, Kevin?"

* * *

_Stark Tower, Manhattan…_

The current Tower occupants filed into the high-tech briefing room that Tony had nicknamed the "War Room" when the last Avenger moved into the tower. It was seldom used, since there hadn't been a reason to assemble all of the Avengers in some time. With a holographic imaging unit in the middle of a large, round table, the room was ready to provide any information Jarvis could access.

Nick Fury watched as Barton set the laptop down on the table and connected it to a port on the main console. Within seconds, data began appearing on the holographic screen. The archer sat back in one of the chairs near the front of the room and began pulling out the more recent documents gathered by the SHIELD analysts.

Setting the maps and other papers down on the table next to him, they waited for the others to take their seats. Fury hated to let Stark or his AI anywhere near the information. At least Jarvis had come to an agreement with Barton and Romanoff to keep any SHIELD information on a secure server that would take someone of Stark's ability to hack.

The Minions gawked openly at the technologically advanced gear that lined the walls. Chavez began quietly scolding the Twins, who had reached out to touch several buttons. They jerked their hands back quickly, putting them in their pockets with identical sheepish grins. Reagan looked like he had found his true love, leaning close to the consoles and muttering excitedly to himself.

When the AI announced that Dr. Osterhouse had arrived, Fury nodded to Barton, who left to meet the physician at the Tower infirmary. Fury didn't want Barton to have to see the photographs that he was about to show the others; the Doc couldn't have had better timing.

A quiet beep sounded as Tony Stark appeared, having set up a video teleconferencing link. The picture rocked slightly as he set his laptop down, brushing aside a small stack of dirty plates. He gave Fury a sour look. _"Fury, you guys are _really_ trying my patience. This is twice in three days, Nick. Three days!"_

"Sorry to ruin your little getaway, Mr. Stark," Fury deadpanned. "This is an emergency."

"_I was this close to clothing-optional hot tub escapades. _This_ close,"_ the billionaire continued, holding up a thumb and forefinger. _"An all day trip to the health spa complete with a massage so she'd be relaxed and in the mood, then a soak in a cozy hot tub… Next on the itinerary was a nice, expensive candlelight dinner. Do you _know_ how much a bottle of __Giacomo Conterno Barolo Monfortino __costs? I don't suppose you would, unless you count- "_

"Stark," the spymaster warned. _"Stark."_

Rogers' face had reddened, while Thor smirked and Bruce groaned in annoyance, having become familiar with their friend's antics.

"_First you take my stuff, traumatize a dog- you guys are just mean, you know that? What did the dog ever do to you? You got me in hot water with Pepper when Thor all but had it handled… No, Barton- that is _not_ a 'that's what she said' moment. Hey wait- where's Barton?" _Stark ranted, pausing to look from side to side as he finally noticed the archer's absence. He glared at Fury. "_You better not have locked him up again, because I _will_ sue- "_

"_Tony!_" three voices chided, halting the inventor's rant.

He gave them a slightly miffed look, crossing his arms over his chest. _"Traitors. Every one of you."_

"Do I have your permission to continue, Mr. Stark?" Fury asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"_This had better be nuke-headed-for-New-York or impending zombie apocalypse level important,"_ Stark demanded, narrowing his eyes as he reached for the aforementioned glass of wine.

The spymaster arched an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind when I send out my Christmas cards."

After the others had taken their seats and Tony had finally settled down, the Director put the main briefing map on the screen. An island near the coast of Alaska was highlighted, along with a satellite map of the area. The others watched the holographic screen with rapt attention, still confused as to what was going on.

"Gentlemen," he said, facing the men. "We've got a Level Seven emergency getting ready to turn into a panic if we don't stop it in its tracks."

Pressing a control on the laptop, he switched the view to a set of photographs recovered from the destroyed facility. It showed an array of security photos taken during the outbreak twenty years ago. Each picture showed a grotesque human figure, covered with blood and ichor.

"What in the All-Father's name is _that?_" Thor asked, his voice quieter than usual.

The others were staring at the pictures in shock and disgust.

"T-that's… " Reagan stuttered, dropping the small gadget he had been examining. His eyes widened as he crossed himself quickly. "That's a zombie. A fucking _zombie._"

Stark spit out the small mouthful of expensive wine. _"Holy shit, there really _is_ an impending zombie apocalypse?"_

Thor's brow furrowed in confusion, turning to Banner. "Zombie?"

"An undead creature," Banner explained. He pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. "They're supposed to be fiction, for the most part. They're based on the old Haitian tales of people turned into mindless… _thralls_… using a special poison, but over time the story has evolved and changed, and now zombies are known as corpses that re-animate and go on a mindless killing spree. Usually, they're shown trying to eat brains, but other stories and movies have them eating whatever they can catch."

"These aren't quite undead," Fury added while the others took in the information. "They may as well be, though. There's no known cure once you've been infected, and based on our intel, there's no trace of humanity left in these things once the virus takes hold. They're living, breathing human beings, but they're also completely nuts and ready to rip your head off if you let them get close."

He gave Banner a pointed look. "Think the Hulk when he's at his angriest, and multiply that by at least three times and add a taste for anything living that comes near it."

Banner shuddered; Fury wasn't sure if it was a good idea to tell him that they suspected the Project Red virus to have contributed to the formula used to create the Abomination, Emil Blonsky. The last thing they wanted to do was piss off Dr. Banner.

Oyuki raised his hand awkwardly. "Uh, sir- is _this_ why we have anti-zombie protocols?"

Fury nodded, pressing another control. A video played, showing a small group of men running down a hallway, chased by a pack of the monstrous creatures. One of the figures turned around, firing a pistol at their pursuers. Each of the monstrous humans dropped and appeared to stay down.

"Wait," Bruce cut in. He pointed at the screen with a pen. "Pause that. There, on the screen- to the right. Was that… _Clint?_"

The other men gaped at the screen with wide eyes. Their teammate was at the back of the small squad of soldiers on the run, covering their retreat. The Clint Barton that they knew didn't seem to be fazed by much, but this younger, less jaded version somehow looked angry and terrified at the same time.

"_Well, that explains why the television died a horrible, sparking death,"_ Stark grumbled. _"God, I hate being right."_

The others gave him a strange look. Tony rolled his eyes. _"I ah, _may_ have made sure there was a Walking Dead marathon playing after he got back from a mission. You know, the special edition that I had custom made? He… didn't react well."_

"Tony, for God's sake, that's at the _top_ of Pepper's List!" Bruce admonished, his brown eyes wide with surprise. Tony had liked the show so much that he had ordered a boxed set converted to 3D. It was _very_ realistic. "Why the hell would you do that? You're lucky that _you_ weren't the one who got shot, instead of the TV!"

"_To be _fair_,"_ Tony complained, holding his hands out to placate the shocked physicist, _"we had an argument about something that slips my mind at the moment, and it just seemed like a good idea at the time. __Besides, the fact that he was able to put these neat little holes in the screen right where the zombies were was _quite _impressive.__"_

Bruce ran a palm over his face. "Tony, Tony- a _lot_ of the things that seem like a good idea at the time turn out to be, well, _not_ good ideas."

The other Avengers merely sighed; this was the man who had poked the Hulk with a shock probe within the first hour after meeting him just to see if he could get a reaction. It wasn't unbelievable that the inventor would press a master assassin's buttons after an argument. It also explained why Natasha stopped speaking to him in languages he knew for a week after the TV was replaced; the assassin was very protective of her partner, and vice versa.

The Director pressed a button, bringing up another photograph. "This was taken twenty years ago at an offshore research facility off the coast of Alaska, along with the video clip you saw. It was the one of many attempts to re-create the super-soldier serum, though this one didn't use Dr. Erskine's formula. A team of virologists created a bug that was intended to increase adrenaline levels and aggression in hopes of duplicating some of the effects of the original serum."

They nodded slowly. Fury took their silence as a cue to continue. "Things didn't go according to plan, and what they got instead was something that in the long run worked out more like a fast-acting, _highly_ contagious form of rabies."

"So what does this have to do with Agent Barton?" Rogers asked. "I mean, outside of the fact that he was there."

Fury's gaze grew solemn. "I believe you've heard of Gallicus Island?"

"Wasn't that the island that was destroyed when a volcano erupted?" Chavez answered, his eyes narrowing. "The entire island got wiped out when it blew."

"A volcano in _Alaska?_" Rogers asked skeptically.

Banner rubbed his temple. "You'd be surprised where volcanoes turn up. A lot of the scientific community doubts the whole 'sudden eruption of a previously unknown volcano' bit, though. The science just doesn't add up."

Stark began twirling a stylus as he picked up a small tablet. _"Jarvis, add 'learn vulcanology' to the To Do list tonight."_

"_Noted, sir."_

"That's because it wasn't a damn volcano," the Director continued. "The Air Force firebombed it in an effort to control an outbreak before they hit what was left with nerve gas to eliminate any leftover infected. Out of over a thousand people, Barton and three others were the only survivors."

"What happened to the other survivors, sir?" Oyuki asked.

"The other survivors were a military pilot and two children- all relocated with new identities. Even Barton doesn't know where they are in order to keep them safe since they're all witnesses," Fury explained. "The government does _not_ like whistleblowers talking about their secret projects."

"So," Banner drawled slowly, "I take it the government had a hand in spreading the volcano story?"

"Along with a few others," Fury replied. "The site was chosen due to having an actual volcano there, it was remote, quiet, and had a small population to support the test site. Much like our new location: Rockhurst Island."

Pulling up a new map, he crossed his arms over his chest and faced the men again. "Three days ago, Agents Sitwell and Romanoff infiltrated Harbinger Biotech, a research lab on Rockhurst Island to take a look into some intel we intercepted on its way to certain unnamed parties. Harbinger Biotech has been doing legitimate research, but there is evidence that some of their senior staff report to AIM."

Most of the Minions collectively groaned. They had had their fair share of run-ins with the villainous think-tank, and had held a grudge ever since they were nearly blown up by the giant "Hammeroid" robot early in their SHIELD service. The Twins remained uncharacteristically quiet, staring at the screen intently.

"About ten hours ago," Fury continued, "Agent Sitwell reported their safe house on the mainland was compromised by unknown assailants. We haven't had any further check-ins from Romanoff and Sitwell, so we can assume they've been captured or killed. Before they went silent, we received video and audio confirmation that Project Red is back in business."

The other agents and Avengers looked back and forth between the screen and each other. They could see the reason for the project's code-name; the irises of the infected men and women seemed to glow red, and the whites of their eyes were veined with red. There was also the blood that covered many of the infected and their victims.

"This bug… how does it work?" Chavez asked quietly, watching the Director intently.

"It attacks the amygdala and cerebellum, as well as stimulate the adrenal gland," Dr. Osterhouse's voice answered from the doorway. The physician and Agent Barton entered the room, the archer throwing Fury a look as they passed. "It was designed to incite rage and increase physical strength, much like the way a mother may lift a car off of her trapped child. After it failed to work as a super-soldier formula, they turned it into a bloody bio-weapon."

"The Director wants us to go in after Agents Romanoff and Sitwell," Barton finally stated, his eyes aimed downwards and staring at the laptop screen. "This… _location_… is just like Gallicus. Same island scenario, same research facility with - I'm guessing - an underground level; same civilian population. Same fucking volcano to cover it all up with. How am I doing, Director?"

"On target as usual. The primary objective is to take the facility, preferably intact. We are going to move in with Strike Teams Echo and Mike to take control of the facility in order to put a halt to Project Red while our other troops secure the nearby town of Rockhurst Bay. Our hope is that our agents on the inside are still alive, but we can't make any guarantees."

"Two strike teams won't be enough, sir," Rogers commented after looking at the facility blueprint. "Not when there are civilians to evacuate. It's gonna take two teams to do this fast enough that they don't unleash hell on those people."

Fury narrowed his eye. "How do you suggest we adjust, Cap?"

Rogers tapped the map in front of him. "I know SHIELD's low on manpower after dealing with the increase of HYDRA and AIM activities, but there should be enough to interface with local police and get those people out of there. I can- "

"Hold that thought, Cap. Chavez, you and your team get your gear packed," Fury ordered, halting Rogers' speech with a quick, quieting gesture. "We need the room. Get ready to head up to the carrier via Quinjet. You'll meet up with Coulson and Team Echo once we're on board. Doc, are we good?"

"Not really, but this _is_ a Level Seven," Dr. Osterhouse replied with a sigh. He walked up to Fury, handing him a signed clearance form before leaning closer to speak quietly. "The _moment_ he gets back, I want him in Medical for observation."

The Director gave him a nod. "Done."

The SHIELD personnel gathered their papers and stood to leave, whispering amongst themselves anxiously. Chavez intercepted the doctor, speaking quietly as they exited. The remaining occupants of the room could hear Reagan and Oyuki's complaints subside as they vanished down the hallway.

"You too, Barton," Fury told the archer. Barton gave him an unsure look, causing the spymaster to roll his eye. "Plausible deniability."

The archer rolled his eyes and gathered the briefing material, stood up and followed the strike team. Fury could almost see the wheels spinning in the shorter man's head as he began talking to Jarvis in a hushed tone. He turned back to the others, who watched him warily from their seats.

"You're not going anywhere near that island," Fury spoke, his tone unflinching. "We're only briefing you as a courtesy in the event we fail, and you're probably the only ones the Council can't steamroll. This will be a SHIELD operation, and even then, mundanes only. You're all enhanced. Physically stronger, faster healing, and in some cases enhanced mentally or magically. We _cannot_ risk any of you getting infected."

He pointed at one of the "zombies" on the screen. "Do you want to risk the Hulk of all people turning into _that?_ The incubation time is almost nil. Twenty to thirty seconds, tops, and you're tryin' to turn your buddies into dog food."

"_My suit can withstand a shitload of damage. I can be there in a few hours,"_ Tony countered softly. _"I've been building in environmental seals, waterproofing… " _

"No way in hell you're going, Stark. While your suit makes you one of the best qualified out of this team to go, we won't take any risks. You're a civilian and - as much as I hate to admit it - one of the most influential people on the planet. Your arc reactor is a weak point that could allow infection if bodily fluids get into the suit somehow."

The billionaire glanced down to the arc reactor covered by his Metallica shirt, absently running a thumb across the soft glow. _"Damn. As much as I hate to agree with you, Nick, you might be right this time."_

"It would take more than a conventional illness to affect me," Thor challenged. "Asgardian physiology is far superior to any mortal."

"This is no conventional disease," Fury drawled. "This wasn't created by nature- it was created by _men_."

The prince scowled at the Director as he banged his fist on the table, rattling it as the others jumped back slightly. "I will _not_ be frightened away from assisting my battle companions. Do not think these wretches can stand up to Mjolnir!"

"Can you honestly promise that you won't be affected by this?" Fury replied crossly, pointing at the picture of one of the infected victims.

Banner cleared his throat. "You can't stop Thor, Director, and I'm the other logical person to go, if only to assist from the background. If you're worried about me getting infected, well, the gamma radiation in my bloodstream kills pretty much any foreign bodies, so that makes me immune for the most part."

Fury sighed. Leave it to the damn physicist to find a loophole. Banner did have a point; if the Hulk was immune to anything by virtue of being a walking radiation container, he would be very useful.

"If the Other Guy comes out, do you think you can control him?" Rogers asked, giving the physicist a thoughtful look.

"I can't make any promises, but… I think as long as nobody shoots at him, it'll be okay," Banner replied quietly. "Besides, these things transmit primarily by bite, right? Well, the Other Guy is pretty much bulletproof, so human teeth are unlikely to cut the skin."

"_Face it, Fury- he's got you there,"_ Stark added. _"Admittedly, Cap and I are somewhat squishier than Point Break and Bruce, but there's got to be a way we can help too. If you think we're going to let one of our own walk into a situation where he can be killed, or worse- turned into one of them, you are fucking _wrong_."_

The inventor pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. _"I can access networks. Satellite support, and all that fun stuff. I'm not totally useless, and Iron Man isn't the only trick up my sleeve. Hell, I can even let you borrow those experimental scout drones we've been developing for the Mars project, if it'll do any good! It's better than sending Clint in to get zombified."_

"Barton is potentially immune," Fury countered firmly. "The first project leader pulled in a bunch of various Special Ops personnel and gave them an experimental vaccine designed to counteract the Project Red virus, or at least slow it down. Barton was among them. It's hard to say if it truly works _after_ a bite, though, since we've been a bit hesitant to test that theory."

"What happened with the vaccine?" Banner asked softly. "Something tells me it didn't work out so well."

The Director let out a long breath. "The vaccine was found to be too volatile. Out of a hundred soldiers who received it, sixteen had no outward effects. The rest turned within hours, which contributed to the seriousness of the initial outbreak."

"You know, I have a hard time believing they volunteered for some unknown vaccine," Rogers commented quietly, his eyes narrowed. "Not if the risk was to turn into… _this_. At least when they gave me the serum, they were _honest_ about what I was getting into."

"_That's the way the government works these days, Cap,"_ Stark commented with a sneer. _"Those poor bastards probably didn't know they were getting anything more than a flu shot or smallpox vaccine, did they, Director?"_

"What about the others that you're sending in?" Banner asked the spymaster. "Do they know there's a vaccine? Or have they already been inoculated?"

"No. The vaccine is considered to be too dangerous to give out on such short notice. The men and women going in will not be forced to take this mission. They will _all_ go in knowing what they're risking," the Director told the group, honesty written upon his face.

"I… I need to step out for a minute," Banner muttered, excusing himself and escaping the room.

Fury decided to remain quiet while the rest muttered quietly amongst themselves. There was nothing he could say to justify what had happened twenty years ago. Stark and the others were right to condemn the event, but that was long ago; they couldn't fix the past, but they damn well could keep it from happening again.

Thor looked thoughtful. "This… illness. It is much like the berserkers of your past Viking warrior society, and we have had experience with them throughout our history as well on Asgard. They can be mighty warriors, or wretched, lost souls filled with pure rage and malice."

"That would be a good way to describe it," Fury agreed, turning off the display and sinking back into a chair.

The Asgardian prince turned to look him in the eye, standing as if to leave. "This could be not only a matter of healing the body, but of the mind as well. Once we reclaim our comrades, I shall return to my home and speak with our healers. We may have methods of dealing with this madness."

"_So, what kind of timeline do we have to work with?"_ Stark asked, pulling up his datapad again. _"I hate waiting, and I've got to come up with some sort of excuse to tell Pepper why I'm working on vacation."_

"I'll have Coulson send you a briefing packet," the spymaster replied, sighing in resignation.

Stark fidgeted with his stylus and looked back up at the screen. _"Look, Nick. I ah… I'm sorry about the little blow up earlier. You're right; this is more important right now."_

Fury smirked. "Bigger fish than you have said and done worse. Although, if your offer to assist with accessing their network still stands, I may just take you up on it."

* * *

_Rockhurst Island, several hours later…_

Sitwell was dropped back onto the storeroom floor next to Natasha, grunting as he landed. The guards left the room afterwards, locking the door behind them. He groaned, shifting to find a more comfortable position. Thankfully, the guards had cuffed his hands in front this time.

The cut on his brow had bled further, and looked to have been aggravated. There were more bruises on the side of his face, as well as on his hands and neck. He winced every time he shifted, holding an arm close to his ribs. There was a large patch of red around the agent's bullet wound, most likely from being pressed on, or even punched.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "You're looking a little rough, there, Warbucks."

"I got the meathead. I may have made him mad," he replied with a wince. "I take it you got the boss?"

"I got the boss and the Senator himself," she said with a snort. "He's in it neck deep. From the looks of things, AIM's joined up with a third party to supply test subjects, so we're looking at human trafficking along with biological warfare. I'm betting the others are freelancing for Bradley."

"Kevin told me roughly the same thing, once he stopped crying," Sitwell replied, groaning as he leaned against the wall.

"Kevin?"

"Yes, Kevin. Not a _completely_ bad guy, for an idiot. They're mercenaries, led by a gentleman named Mr. Cobalt. I didn't get his first name, but I'm suspecting he's Horatio Cobalt- a United States intelligence agent who left the CIA about four years ago after a mission went south," Jasper explained softly. "I didn't get much more than that.

"Either he's hooked up with some old contacts, or he never truly left government service in the first place."

"Considering this is probably a front for a government project, that wouldn't surprise me."

"At least the main group of staff upstairs doesn't seem to be in on it," Natasha reasoned. "I almost had the senator singing like a bird, but Mr. Slimy Suit stopped him before he got too far."

"Smart man," the bald agent replied with a shiver.

She scoffed. "First he tried to psychologically intimidate me with a tour through this abbatoir, I suspect to soften me up. That coupled with the damn cold is a pretty potent combo. Outside of the fact that he's a contractor, I did learn that they got the virus sample from SHIELD via mole. Fury's going to have to clean house again."

"Damn. He's gonna be _pissed_."

"That's a mild word for it. They tainted some of the chemicals coming in since the test process wasn't going fast enough. That's all I could get before he shut his mouth."

"So, ah," Jasper replied hesitantly after several minutes of quiet. "This is what Barton ran into before joining SHIELD, right?"

Natasha winced, nodding again in affirmation.

He sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. "That explains _so_ much."

"Well, not _quite_ the exact same thing. These are a bit more… " she added quickly.

"Grotesque?" he offered with another wince.

Natasha nodded, shivering as she spoke. The tremors weren't just from the cold this time. "I never saw pictures, but I've seen the debriefing report that Clint wrote when he first started. It was quite… graphic. These are different though- they're more armored than his earlier description. They'll be tougher to take down."

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a small white cloud. "Well, he survived it. So can we. Oh, I picked up that they've been doing genetic research as well as virology when I was being questioned. The words 'genetic freak' were passed around once or twice."

"Gene grafting might explain the armored ones back in the hallways."

"Yes," he agreed, "but armored with what? Those things look familiar somehow, but I'm just not placing it. It's like some sort of exoskeleton, or shell. Whatever it is, it seems to keep these things from suffering from the cold."

"Exoskeleton… cold resistance … the _Chitauri_," she replied softly. "They're armoring them with that bio-armor that the Chitauri wore. It's like a chitin, carapace, or something like that. There were plenty of bodies left behind after the invasion. It wouldn't be hard for someone with the right contacts to get a hold of one, or at least some genetic materials."

"_Shit._ All they had to do was scrape bits off of the ground during the clean-up_,_" Sitwell replied. "If zombies weren't bad enough, we've got to deal with _alien_ zombies? My day just got better. You're _sure_ it was Chitauri?"

Natasha arched an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look. "Pretty sure. I got a _very_ close look at them last year when they were trying to blast my head off."

"Okay," he replied softly. "It looks like we'll need to get out of here and back to SHIELD then. Coulson has our last transmission- it'll take about twenty-four to forty-eight hours to organize a rescue operation. That leaves us about fourteen hours at minimum, by my estimate."

"Well," she replied with a light smirk. "We better get cracking. We don't want Fury and Coulson to have all the fun."

* * *

_Administrator's Office, Rockhurst Island…_

"You can't be serious," Dr. Thompson told the voice on the other end of the phone. "We just got started. Yes, I understand. No, Senator. It won't be a problem."

She shivered as she hung up the phone. The biologist had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. Setting the phone down, she looked at her assistant. "Terry? That was Mr. Cobalt. Burn everything."

"Burn _everything?_" he asked, his eyes widening. "But that means… "

"Get the senior personnel out of the labs. Pull the fire alarm, call in a pest control problem, I don't care- just get them out and to the shore," she ordered. "We've got less than a day before SHIELD arrives."

He gulped, nodding and running out of the room to prepare to evacuate the Harbinger research personnel. As he left, she turned to her computer. Pulling out a portable drive, she started downloading the information from the terminal.

The next step would be to plant the virus in the system that would destroy the data. It would take an expert to get anything useful once the code was finished running. Satisfied that the backup program was running, she turned to her safe to begin emptying the contents.

While Dr. Thompson was cleaning out her office, Terry Bailey was running from office to office, repeating the order to evacuate. Handing an intern her clipboard, he shooed her out the door. Moving to another lab, he waved the techs and researchers out of the room.

One biologist refused to leave, citing the need to take care of the lab specimens. Terry swore quietly.

"I am _not_ leaving them behind," the researcher snapped angrily, shoving a satchel against the assistant's chest. "We'll crate them up and get ready for transport."

"This is coming from Director Thompson herself," Terry argued, shoving the satchel back at the researcher. "Leave the fucking things behind!"

One of the lab assistants swore as he struggled with an infected Doberman held by a pole snare. Shoving it back towards the crate in the back of the room, he glanced back to the arguing men. The dog snarled, snapping at the pole as it thrashed. The tech wasn't sure who to obey- Director Thompson's assistant, or his supervisor.

The dog took advantage of the momentary lapse. With a snarl, it dove towards the assistant's leg, clamping on and savagely shaking its head from side to side. The man screamed, kicking at the enraged animal.

Reaching for a scalpel from a nearby table, he swung it forward, cutting the animal's throat. With a shaking hand, he scooted himself back along the floor in a fit of panic while the dog tried to crawl towards the door. Seconds later, he fell backwards with a scream.

Terry and the researcher watched in horror from outside the lab as the assistant began to convulse. Hitting the lock on the lab door, he reached for a nearby alarm and slapped the large red button. With a hiss and a thunk, the lab's magnetic locks engaged, securing the door.

Pulling out his phone, he hit the first number on speed dial. The Director was _not_ going to be happy.

* * *

Well, there you have it... and I'll admit, certain other movies _may_ have influenced this chapter. At least, a little bit.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Warning: This chapter contains zombies or zombie-like critters, and it may be a bit more graphic than previous chapters. If that's not really your cup of tea, you may want to skip ahead to a later chapter.

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier, Quinjet Hangar…_

"Agents," Phil Coulson's voice echoed slightly as he addressed the assembled crowd of SHIELD agents. There was a large group of security personnel dressed in dark blue uniforms and black-suited analysts, as well as Strike Team Echo in their black tactical gear. Several pilots watched from the edge of the crowd. "We have a Level Seven emergency."

The assembled agents murmured amongst themselves. Level Seven was a phrase they had hadn't thought to hear again so soon after the Manhattan Invasion. The first and only time SHIELD had dealt with such a threat was when the Tesseract had been stolen; to have another one so close to the last was yet another indication that times were changing. As the senior agent cleared his throat loudly, the other agents began quieting down.

"We've received word of a biological contaminant threat," Coulson continued calmly. His firm voice echoed in the hangar bay. "SHIELD is activating Protocol NHC-1."

He waited while they began whispering again, as he had expected them to. Protocol NHC-1 had never been used; most agents thought of it as a fake protocol designed to mess with the field agents or a leftover from some April Fools prank. Nobody expected zombies or even quasi-zombies to be _real_, after all.

"Security teams One through Five," he announced. The teams perked up at hearing their designation. He motioned for a junior agent to pass around maps with their assigned locations. "You'll be working with the local Sheriff and rounding up the civilians. Our first objective is to eliminate all egress points off the island to avoid spreading the contagion. Once the island is completely locked down, we'll start evacuating civilians using the Quinjets. Teams Six and Seven, you'll be heading for Harbinger Biotech to back up the strike teams. "

They gave a quick affirmative as he turned to address the agents in tactical armor. "Strike Team Echo."

"Sir," Agent Hartwell greeted, stepping in front of the team.

Coulson handed him a flash drive. "Blueprints and satellite maps. Know them, love them. Your team will be joining Agent Barton and Strike Team Mike to extract Agents Romanoff and Sitwell. They're still in transit from Manhattan, so we'll have to work out an extraction plan once they arrive. Consider the building to be a hostile entry. Full tactical load is authorized."

The large agent grinned. Hartwell was a protector at heart, and the chance to play rescuer to two senior agents was music to his ears. His team was already smiling at the words "full tactical load" since it meant they got to play with the _really_ cool stuff.

Coulson finally turned his gaze to the suited agents. "The rest of you are with me. Priority one is to establish a temporary command post at the Sheriff's office once we land. Once we're set up, we'll coordinate the evacuation and provide satellite intel to the strike teams."

He glanced at his watch. "Grab your gear and head for your assigned Quinjet. Move out!"

* * *

Clint matched Fury's hurried pace as they reached the Helicarrier bridge. Deputy Director Hill met them with a report as Fury stalked towards the raised platform that doubled as the Council chamber. The Director tended to refer to it as the "ass-chewing zone." Coulson was already waiting for them.

The Director pressed a button on the center console. Several large, matte black panels lowered down, closing the room off from the rest of the crew.

"Report," Fury ordered, turning to Coulson.

The balding agent handed him a tablet with a long list of personnel already showing. "We've got seven Ops and support teams ready, but they're going to be busy with the evacuation and securing the town. Once we've accounted for everyone, their orders are to create a perimeter around the town center. Two teams will move to back up Mike and Echo, forming a perimeter around Harbinger Biotech."

"Any holes?"

"If you mean holes in personnel, well, we are short on long range marksmen. We've got them distributed around the globe among other strike teams with operations already in progress," Coulson replied with a hint of annoyance. "If we're going in based on the last outbreak, snipers could be useful in controlling any hotspots."

Fury frowned. "What about heavy weapons support?"

"Already planned for. We're going to check out the remaining fifty caliber rifles from of the armory. R and D has several lighter-weight units ready for field service, so I've requisitioned them for the mission. The portability will allow us to shift the teams around much faster than trying to secure vehicle units."

"The Helicarrier is ready to move once you give the order. The trip should take us a few hours, but the Quinjets will of course be moving much faster," Hill added. "If we lose control of the island, we can scramble the jets to finish the job."

"Another mysterious volcanic eruption," Fury drawled, rolling his eyes in irritation. "Barton? What's your take?"

Clint looked up from the satellite map he had been studying. The blueprints and topographical maps hadn't added up in his opinion. If they were using the same pattern as before, there was bound to be a sub-level.

"Has anyone gotten into their network yet?" he asked, catching Hill's attention. "Something's not right. I'm not sure this blueprint shows everything."

"We're working on it, but there are two networks. The first one is a generic internet linkup for basic browsing and email, but any important data is kept on an intranet using a separate server," she advised, moving closer to look over his shoulder. "Why?"

The archer pointed at one of the satellite photographs, tapping a finger gently on one section of the structure. "That little bit right there."

Hill and Coulson squinted, leaning in closer to see what he was pointing at.

"It's a power conduit," the archer explained. "Probably a backup. That little block right there looks like an exhaust vent. If this complex is set up like the one on Gallicus, there's an underground facility."

Fury grimaced. "That lines up with what my source told me. He said there was a secure door, but only certain personnel were allowed access to the lower levels. Supposedly, it just went to a basement, but if you're right, then this may be more complicated than we expected."

Barton scoffed. "Conduits that big don't go to a single basement level. The main building would support any lighting or ventilation."

"We've got forty Ops personnel going down, seven tactical support, and the two strike teams," Fury counted, turning to Barton. "Are you comfortable with that number?"

"Maybe." Clint thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration as he mentally ran through the potential scenarios. "The ground teams should be enough to evac the civilians if we're using the jets. Two teams going in the building should be enough. Depending on how tight the quarters are, we may not have room for much more. The fewer potential bite victims, the better."

"The town is small," Coulson added, referring back to the grid map of Rockhurst Bay. "Once we clear the civilians, I'll have the rest of the teams set up choke points to funnel and catch anything escaping, including the dogs and cats Agent Romanoff reported were being used."

"I'm more worried about the rats," Clint replied with a shrug.

Fury frowned. "Rats?"

"Well, yeah- it's a lab, right? Back on Gallicus, we saw dogs, cats, rats, and even a damn mongoose. It's safe to say if anything busts out of there, it's infected, and rats can go where larger animals or humans can't. They're fast little fuckers, too," the archer commented sourly. "Why else do you think they bombed _and_ gassed Gallicus? They weren't taking any chances."

"Coulson, let the ground teams know to be on the lookout," the spymaster ordered. "Do you have room for Dr. Banner and Thor? They're insisting on helping with the extraction."

"I thought you said the rest of the team wasn't going," Coulson commented with a frown.

"No shit. They shouldn't be at ground zero," Clint agreed, his expression growing tense. "I've _seen_ what these things can do- it's not a good idea! They don't necessarily have to bite you to cause infection. It's body fluids in general- blood sprays, spitting… any kind of exposure is hazardous!"

"Banner has informed me that his blood has been permanently irradiated due to his gamma exposure. He assures me that the radiation will kill any foreign bodies if one of them gets a lucky bite. In addition, the Hulk is fucking bulletproof; he's one of the only ones who _can_ go."

Hill frowned at the Director. "What about Thor? Last I checked, he's not the Hulk."

Fury sighed. "He's Asgardian. Supposedly, they're immune to diseases."

"God, this is getting to be more like Gallicus by the minute." Clint placed his hands on the tabletop, bowing his head as he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was bad enough he was walking into an infected zone again; he didn't want to lose any more friends to this disease. He shook his head angrily. "If they get hit with this thing and they're wrong… you know what happens next Boss."

"Yeah," Fury replied quietly. "We all do. That's why we're _not_ gonna let them get hit with it. Ya get me?"

"Yes sir," Clint snapped, snatching up the maps. "Just… keep them with the ground troops or something. They're both a little bit too big to be running around in a lab or a tunnel."

Coulson held back a frown, catching Barton's slight flinch. The archer was donning his mask of icy professionalism, and it was only years of experience working with the sniper that allowed Coulson to spot the barest hint of Barton's hands trembling. The archer controlled himself well in most situations, but the constant reminders of the event twenty years ago were bound to wear at the man's nerves.

"Thor would be a big help with our long-ranged support," Coulson offered. "His lightning could make up for the lack of snipers, and his flight capability will keep him out of physical reach of any hostiles. Dr. Banner would probably be of help in keeping the civilians calm or helping on the support end. I can keep him at the command center."

"That little matter is settled then. Hawkeye, if you can locate of the Senator and Director Kerry Thompson, grab them before they can go to ground. Also," the Director added, pulling up three profiles on another tablet. "I'd like you to meet Terry Bailey - my inside man. He's been infiltrating Harbinger for the last year, and worked his way up to a position as Director Thompson's personal assistant. If you can find him, try to get him out too."

"Won't the Senator know about him if he's SHIELD?" Hill asked. "He could already have been eliminated."

Fury shook his head. "Bailey infiltrated right after he graduated training. The Council doesn't look at the junior agents, Hill. Well, _most_ of them, anyway. Senator Bradley would have moved before now if Bailey was the leak."

"About _that_," Clint said, narrowing his eyes. "How _did_ they find out about Natasha?"

"The Council has always had their own moles in SHIELD, and Bradley is no exception," Hill answered, her gaze growing hard. "It's gotten worse after the Manhattan invasion. They don't trust half of the senior operatives, and they _especially_ don't trust Director Fury. It wouldn't be that hard for the senator to slip one in amongst the others that reports solely to him instead of the entire Council. My first guess would be one of the analysts."

"I would look at the pilots or anyone from Logistics," Coulson advised. "Agent Quartermain is keeping an eye on all of the personnel that we suspect report to the Council. I'll have him start digging further while we're in Alaska."

"Good. The jets won't wait for you, gentlemen, so you might wanna step on it," Fury groused. He looked at the telecommunications panel, sighing. This was the part he hated. "I've got to talk to the Council and somehow explain why we're cleaning up one of their messes. _Again_."

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier Special Equipment Locker, a short time later…_

As Coulson and Barton reached the armory, the older agent pressed his thumb to the biometric reader and held his eye up to the retinal scanner. The view screen on the door lock flashed green, granting the agents entry to the Special Equipment locker.

Clint reached for the heavier Kevlar battle armor that R&D had dropped off the week before. It was a heavier cloth than his usual battle armor used, with full sleeves and a thicker weave in the chest. The color and pattern appeared to be closer to his usual tactical uniform: solid black shirt, high-collared vest, and black cargo pants with as many pockets as the tailor could fit. A SHIELD insignia had been thoughtfully stitched in purple onto the upper right chest area, in the same location as his sleeveless assault uniform.

The archer quickly changed outfits and re-strapped his sidearm to his leg. Taking several minutes to test the limitations of the heavier Kevlar-based clothing, he found the range of motion satisfactory. Clint wondered how many odd looks he would get for going into battle with sleeves; it was a running joke bordering on urban legend that he had a pathological aversion to them. It wasn't that he hated sleeves; they just got in the way sometimes.

It was like those damn rumors that he lived in the ventilation system or had strategically hidden "nests" with caches of food and stolen trinkets from his closest friends. Well, the nest thing was slightly true, but he was a sniper- he wasn't Gollum, damn it!

Clint glanced at the bow case and quiver sitting next to the wall of firearms, setting a hand down on the latches. Thinking back on his previous run-in with Project Red, he sighed. Looking upwards, he pulled out another case that held his customized sniper rifle. Opening the case, he quickly checked each piece before closing it again and setting it down on the floor. While he didn't think it would be needed, he hated to be unprepared for any situation.

Coulson was watching as he pulled another customized weapon down- an M-4 automatic rifle. He checked the weapon, slinging it over his shoulder. Multiple extra clips, a small emergency wound kit, and several other items went into the pockets of his cargo pants, belt pouches, and a small pack. He pulled out a long, thin sheathed sword and strapped it to the bag after checking the blade, feeling like a bad movie cliché marching to war.

"No bow?" Coulson asked as he reached for the explosives locker.

"Too slow," he told the older agent. Another hazy memory of his fight with Natasha during the Loki Incident came to mind. "Can't waste time if there are infected down there. Bow's a bit awkward for a tunnel or hallway."

Coulson nodded in agreement. They knew many thought that Clint could pull an arrow, nock it and fire at a faster rate than some could fire a pistol, but this was not one of the times where they wanted to put the theory to test. Clint watched as the other agent turned to a large case, grunting as he heaved it up onto a table.

"You want help with that?" Clint asked. The agent shook his head. "You know, Coulson… "

"I'm _fine_."

The archer frowned. "You don't _look_ fine. Look, Coulson, you _know_ scar tissue- "

"Please don't. I'm fine," Coulson argued, his face reddening with the exertion of lifting the heavy weapon. He leaned back against the cabinet. "I can handle it."

"Bullshit," Clint admonished quietly, looking at the other man in concern. "You're gonna strain your shoulder trying to lift that thing. You're not ready for this yet."

"I'm ready enough," Coulson snapped. "You would do the same for me. Natasha would do the same. I don't plan on going in. I'll be coordinating our ground forces."

Clint looked at his friend with concern as he reached for Natasha's spare set of weapons and tucked them into a bag. "Does Fury know about this?"

"He knows enough," the other agent replied. "I _need_ to do this, Barton. _Please_."

The archer gave him a skeptical look. Coulson sighed and leaned over the case he had lugged out of the storage cabinet. Opening the latches, he pushed the lid up to check the weapon inside before securing it again.

"I promised to stay out of the fighting. If I can't pick up any heavy artillery, the least I can do is coordinate the operation," the agent told Clint bitterly. "Besides, considering the circumstances of the last few days, neither of us are _really_ in the best shape for this, are we?"

The archer breathed deeply, cursing the other man's stubbornness as a dull ache in his neck reminded him of Monday. He _still_ couldn't remember what had happened on Tuesday, and hadn't had much time to review all of the footage that Jarvis had sent him.

While Dr. Osterhouse had given him emergency medical clearance, he obviously hadn't been happy about doing so, and had made Clint promise to report to Medical as soon as they were finished. While the archer hated the Medical ward with a passion, he knew the Doc had a good reason for it.

"This op is _so_ FUBARed," he muttered, pulling out a phone and sending a text to Chavez while Coulson pulled out a tablet to begin checking the gear out of the armory.

The archer shifted his gear back onto his back and shoulders, turning back to Coulson. "I get it. I do. Just… don't push things, alright? Tasha'll never forgive you if you try to die on us again or the mission fails because you overdid it."

"I know. It's just… " Coulson began, his words trailing off as he breathed deeply, shaking his head in frustration. "I feel so far _behind_."

Within minutes, there was a knock on the door. Clint opened the door to find Chavez and Oyuki waiting on the other side. Turning to Coulson, he took the tablet from Coulson and held it out to the Minions.

"Thumbprint and signature here," he ordered, tapping the screen. At their confused looks, he tapped the screen again. "I don't care which one of you takes it, just sign, okay?"

"What is it?" Chavez asked warily. He looked at the large case and back at his medical bag and combat pack, frowning as he pondered where he was going to fit it.

"Possibly Hulk-proof doors in a creepy basement, right?" They nodded. "This thing is a big ass lockpick."

"For crying out _loud_, Alonzo," Oyuki complained, taking the tablet and signing as ordered. "I know you're a jarhead and all, but _damn_- that thing's freakin' huge. You're gonna overdo it if you try to carry it- I'll take it. Grenade launchers and tunnels don't mix anyway."

Clint handed the tablet back to Coulson as the demolitions expert picked up the case and began following his team leader towards the hangar bay.

Coulson picked up a smaller case holding his own computer and several smaller pieces of equipment. The two agents secured the armory, then headed towards the waiting Quinjets. The older agent's phone rang. Holding it up to his ear, Coulson listened shortly and then cursed.

"What's up?" Clint asked, stepping over a knee-knocker and looking back at Coulson.

The senior agent grimaced. "Director Fury just heard from Bailey. There's been another incident in the labs. We've officially got an outbreak."

* * *

_The town of Rockhurst Bay, Rockhurst Island…_

"Mommy? What's that noise?" a small child cried, holding a hand over one ear and pointing at the television. "It's playin' on my movie!"

The housewife and mother of four sighed as she flipped the handle for the sink spigot, turning off the water. Blaring loudly over the television was the familiar, grinding tones of an Emergency Broadcast Message. It had been weeks since they had had one in the area; the last message was to warn them of a particularly nasty storm that had threatened Rockhurst Bay.

The tones soon gave way to a cultured British voice.

"_This is a severe weather alert from the Emergency Broadcast System. There is a potential tsunami warning in effect for the designated region of Rockhurst Bay. All citizens, please report to the nearest designated shelter for further instructions. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test." _

Her eyes widened as a map showed several concentric rings in the Pacific Ocean area while the message repeated. Underwater earthquakes had been known to cause tsunamis in the past, and since when were the emergency broadcasts done by the British? Hurrying over to a closet, she pulled out a large duffel bag and the family suitcases.

"Kids, come get your bags. You remember the drills from school?" she called, watching her eldest three children nod. "I'm gonna call your dad down at the docks. Get some clothes packed- only what you can fit in the bags. Don't forget your toothbrushes!"

Looking out the window, she frowned. There were no clouds in the sky, so there would be no weather complications, hopefully. They hadn't felt any shaking though; usually, a quake large enough to cause a tidal wave should theoretically have been felt all the way to the mainland. Visions of the previous tsunami that had hit Japan three years ago lent more urgency to her packing.

She wasn't taking any chances with her children's safety. Picking up her phone, she dialed her husband's number and waited for him to pick up.

* * *

_Rockhurst Bay Sheriff's Station, a little while later…_

The sheriff and his deputies watched in awe as a large jet hovered over the parking lot, lowering itself slowly. Several more landed on the nearby beach, their turbines still spinning slowly as their ramps lowered. Once lowered, men and women darted down the ramps, dressed in suits and tactical gear.

"Is this an invasion?" an older resident questioned, clutching his grocery bag nervously as other gawkers gathered near the Sheriff's Station. "They don' _look_ like aliens."

"It's the damn government come ta take our livelihoods, I tell you!" another more paranoid man cried as another jet continued to fly towards the local biotech research station instead of landing. "I _knew_ they was up to no good!"

"Haven't seen a plane like that since New York," a woman commented softly. "One of them crashed near my sister's cab."

The Sheriff watched as several suited men and women jogged towards the cluster of people. A middle-aged, balding agent reached him first, holding a metal case. The other agents in tactical gear began moving towards the crowd, but halted as they approached the balding man, who appeared to be the Agent-In-Charge.

"Sheriff Tenor?" the suited man asked, holding up a badge and identification. "Agent Coulson. I'm with SHIELD."

The sheriff frowned. SHIELD wasn't a weather organization, based on what little had been revealed about them recently. "Is this about that funky Tsunami report?"

"Sheriff," Agent Coulson said, fixing the other man with a steely gaze, "I think we need to talk. Can you escort me to your office please?"

* * *

_Meanwhile, at the Harbinger Bio-tech Facility… _

"No, no, no! Don't _open_ the damn door!" Terry Bailey screeched, shoving another security guard away from the lab doors. "We've gotta contain this here! Full lockdown protocol."

The other guards nodded nervously, darting down the hallway as the undercover SHIELD agent located a fire axe and wedged it into a crack on the opposite side of the door from the lock, ensuring that it couldn't slide open any further. While he had been contacting Director Fury and grabbing the sidearm he'd hidden in his office along with his own computer backup files, three security guards had tried to enter the lab to restrain the escapees, but had gotten themselves bitten in the process.

The infected had broken free of the lab and chased the straggling employees who hadn't already been evacuated through the facility. Some had managed to lock themselves in their lab, while others had been picked off one by one, save for this small group that had managed to stay together while they rushed for the main entrance. They'd barely managed to get the sliding door closed, and they could see the reddened eyes glaring at them through the small windows; a muffled snarling sound came from behind the door. Several of the employees now huddled near the front doors, tugging at the handles.

"Anyone hurt? Bitten?" Bailey asked, trying to hush the panicked scientists. "We need to know _now_."

"Why are we locked in?" one technician screeched, tugging again at the door handle. "We've got to get out of here!"

"We can't let them out," one of the guards barked, glaring at her. "If they get out, can you imagine what they'll do to the civilians? You've seen the damn movies, woman! Think about it."

The pounding on the sliding doors grew louder, as well as the hissing and growling from the infected as the door began to give way. Huddling closer in fear, the small group of Harbinger employees pressed against the facility doors, some of them crying and muttering intelligibly. Bailey and the guards drew their weapons, aiming them at the door.

As the sliding door leading into the heart of the complex buckled further with a groan of strained metal from the guide tracks, Bailey turned, finding the lock indicator had turned green. Several people fell backwards as the front doors leading to the outside were thrown open.

"_Everybody down!_" a loud voice yelled.

The remaining personnel threw themselves to the floor and out of the way of the door as the inner sliding door fell inwards. Several infected men and women tried to enter the lobby but soon dropped as the sound of gunfire erupted. They fell to the floor and kept still.

Thirteen men and women in black tactical gear and full mask re-breathing units charged into the room. The first pair continued to fire, taking down the infected while the rest fanned out in front of the scientists and guards, leaving a fourteenth man at the door disconnecting a small device from the lock. Bailey breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the insignia on the leader's uniform.

SHIELD had arrived.

Once the last of the rage-filled creatures had been finished, one of the men called out, "Clear!"

Bailey observed two of the team taking positions near the door in a guard position while the rest checked the room. Finally finished with the door, the last team member rejoined them, talking to one of the taller men quietly. The team leader spotted the undercover agent and approached, lowering his rifle.

"Report," the man ordered, moving the re-breather off of his face and up onto his head.

Terry finally recognized the man from the security briefing given during the final phase of their training class. Agent Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye- one of SHIELD's most senior field operatives, and member of Strike Team Delta. The other Harbinger personnel looked at Terry in confusion as he scrambled to his feet.

"Sir, Director Thompson is currently unaccounted for. She disappeared while we were dealing with the initial outbreak," Terry reported quickly. "Fifteen hostiles found so far, sixteen if you include the infected dog. We were unable to verify if any other animals escaped."

Barton looked at one of his team, who counted the bodies. "Nine accounted for, sir."

"Some of them may have chased the stragglers into the labs or storage areas, so there's probably more than we thought at first," Terry offered. "Sorry, sir- we were too busy running to get an accurate headcount, so there's probably more than fifteen."

The senior agent nodded and shouldered his weapon again. It was unusual for Hawkeye to be armed with a firearm, or so the rumors spoke. Outside of his sidearm, he rarely used guns and preferred a bow. Not that Terry was complaining; there was obviously a lot the younger agent had to catch up on once he rejoined the SHIELD fold.

"Full sweep of the floor," Barton commanded, catching the attention of his team. "Drop the hostiles, pull the hard drives, grab what hard-copy you can. Leave the samples alone - _anything_ could be contaminated. I see anyone messing around with them and I will shoot you myself. Are we clear?"

The group nodded in unison as one of the largest men beckoned to half of the team members. They followed his lead as they entered the lab and work areas, checking their re-breather masks to make sure they were secure. The other half of the team followed afterwards, leaving the tech and Barton.

Terry watched as the tech pulled a large satchel off of his shoulder and set it on the ground, rooting inside while Barton turned back to the young agent.

"Where're Romanoff and Sitwell?" Barton asked quietly.

"I haven't seen anyone named Sitwell, sir," Bailey replied with a grimace as he looked over at the group and stepped closer to the field agent. "I spotted Agent Romanoff yesterday in the company of Doctor Walker, heading for the lower levels. I haven't seen either of them since. Aside from the doc, the only other person with access was Director Thompson. She never confirmed my access since I kind of just got the job- she said it wasn't part of the job description yet."

"Alright. Get these people out of here- take them past the barrier team and to the evac zones. Report to Agent Coulson," Barton ordered as he turned back to the tech. "That thing ready yet?"

"Almost, Boss," the man replied, tinkering with what looked like a robotic crab.

"You'll need this, sir," Bailey told the archer, pulling a pair of keycards from around his neck and handing it to the older agent. "The first one's mine, the other one I copied from the Director's when she was in a meeting this morning. I wasn't able to test it before everything got been locked down, but I figure it can't hurt. The entrance is in Lab Five along the back wall."

"Good work," Barton praised. "Now escort these people to the backup teams waiting outside. They'll get them to the evac zones."

Bailey motioned to the huddle of Harbinger personnel, guiding them out towards the parking lot and the waiting SHIELD teams. Several large trucks stood parked outside the main gate, loaned by the local Sheriff. The employees were quickly herded into the vehicles, which headed towards the town.

Back in the Harbinger facility, the small robot whirred and beeped as it activated. The pincer-like graspers flailed reflexively, and the technician grinned. "Ready, sir."

"_Activation complete,"_ the crab-like robot's tinny voice announced. _"Standing by for further instructions."_

"Uh, let me remember how he said to do this… activate Scout Mode," Reagan ordered.

"_Scout mode engaged,"_ the bot dutifully replied. _"Please state parameters."_

Reagan picked up the drone after spotting a ventilation duct. After removing the grating, he set the robot inside gently. It scrabbled to a standing position, its small scanner turning slowly as it recorded its position.

"Standard search and rescue," the tech ordered. "Seek targets Romanoff and Sitwell, report status every uh, five minutes."

"_Parameters accepted."_

"Awesome," Reagan commented. He activated his comm as he began to close the grate. "Command, Mike Three. Scout drone is in place, commencing search."

"_Wait- you're leaving me in the vent?"_ the drone cried. _"I get claustrophobic!"_

Reagan's eyes widened as he watched the drone wave its pincers at him. "Uh… "

"_Oh, geez, lighten up will you?"_ The drone's voice shifted, and Reagan heard the familiar sound of Tony Stark's voice. _"Sorry, kid- I just couldn't resist."_

"Sir, uh…" the younger tech began to stutter. "Is that Mr. Stark?"

"_Mr. Stark,"_ Coulson's voice snapped in annoyance. _"Why are you on my comm frequency?"_

"_Remote assistance, my dear Agent!" _the crab-bot replied, waving its arms emphatically. _"I figure since I can't be there in person, I can be there in spirit. Well, sort of in spirit anyway, and until techno-wiz here can get a wifi link plugged into their network, this is the best I could come up with."_

"_Is Captain Rogers hiding in the Quinjets somewhere?"_ Hartwell's amused baritone cut in. _"Cuz' me an' the boys- "_

"_The star spangled man with the plan is actually heading towards the evac staging area on the mainland. Fury got him a spot helping with the evacuees- someone's gotta look out for the poor schlubs once they get voted off the island,"_ Stark explained. _"Don't worry, Cap's far away from the line of fire. Biting. Whatever. You can't get rid of us that easily, Bird-brain."_

"Bite me, Stark," Hawkeye replied with a smirk.

"_Clear the line, gentlemen. Let's stay focused."_

"_Yeah, yeah- don't get crabby, Agent. I even skipped the musical accompaniment this time," _Stark quipped. _"Just remember- you guys actually _invited_ me this time!"_

"_Stark… "_

"_I know, get going. Sheesh- you'd think they'd be a bit more grateful…" _

Stark's voice trailed off, the huffy voice quieting as the bot moved further into the ventilation system. If their information was correct, the ventilation shafts went deeper into the sub-levels and would allow the bot to find an access point. From there, it could scout ahead while the strike teams cleared the main floor and found a way to open the door to the sub-levels.

As much as Stark liked to piss people off, the billionaire knew when to get serious. Even if it was hard to keep a straight face when you knew the billionaire, who was normally clad in the Iron Man armor, was piloting a miniature arachnoid that looked to have far less firepower than his usual suit. Reagan had looked ready to disassemble the bot the entire trip from Stark Tower just to see how it ticked.

Stark Industries had been trying their hands at the aerospace field over the last few years aside from the medical technology field, and were finally seeing some solid results. The crab-like bot was designed for all-terrain scouting, with multiple legs that would allow for easier movement through the rocky fields on Mars, where treads and wheels may be more of a hindrance. Including remote control functionality made perfect sense.

With a quick motion of his head, the archer signaled for Reagan to follow as they rejoined Strike Team Mike.

Shortly after entering the corridor, they heard a growl emanating from one of the nearby offices. Chavez signaled for the twins to watch the opposite office, swinging his weapon around the corner as he entered the room.

A bloodied figure was crouched over a body. Hissing, its fingers were still scratching at the yellow fabric the prone figure wore. A broom handle poked out of the figure's chest. The woman looked at Chavez and snarled, her red eyes refracting the flickering overhead light. It was a sight straight out of a horror movie.

"Shit," the team leader muttered. A pair of gunshots from a nearby lab broke him out of his near-trance in time to fire at the infected secretary, who leaped at Chavez with hands curled into claws. She dropped after three well-placed bullets hit her chest.

Oyuki stepped up, pistol in hand. He nudged his friend gently. "C'mon man. Focus."

Chavez stepped cautiously towards the body in the yellow outfit. The man had been killed by the broom handle, most likely wielded by the infected woman based on the messy stab wounds littering the yellow-clad chest. Recognizing the outfit, he reached for his comm.

"Command, we've got confirmation on AIM personnel. One down," the Minion leader reported.

"_Keep an eye out for more,"_ Coulson ordered. _"Was there any sign of infection?"_

"No sir - this one was done in with a broomstick."

Hawkeye stepped into the room, stopping to take in the mess. "Shit. I _hate_ the smart ones."

"Smart ones?" Oyuki asked, his forehead tilting slightly in confusion. "They didn't cover those in the briefing."

"Some of them keep a good chunk of their intelligence when they turn. They were more savage than the others… used tools, keys, and the like. These damn turbo-zombie types are bad enough, but the ones smart enough to get through locked doors? Fuck no," Barton commented as he fired another round into the woman's forehead.

"Double-tap," the Twins muttered sadly in unison.

Barton continued to stare down at the woman.

"Sir? _Sir!_" Chavez called, trying to get his attention. "We gotta move. Boss!"

The Minion leader's attempt to touch the archer's shoulder resulted in finding himself on the wrong end of Barton's P30. Chavez halted all movement, watching Barton's hand begin to tremble as recognition filled the older man's eyes. Reaching out slowly, Chavez took a deep breath and moved the pistol away from his head.

"Boss," the Minion asked quietly. "Are you okay?"

"No," Barton replied shakily as he holstered his pistol.

The younger agent watched warily as Hawkeye quickly left the room, letting out a deep breath while he mentally ordered his knees to stop shaking from the close call. The rest of the Minions followed, continuing to clear rooms. Reagan cheered slightly as they finally found the IT office while Team Echo finished securing the other half of the building.

Plugging in a small USB transceiver, the tech waited for it to begin blinking before activating his comm again. "Command, Mike Three. Uplink is installed; the system's ready for access."

"_Copy that, Mike Three. Stark, you're up."_

While Stark commenced his attack on the network, Clint checked in with the other team. "Echo One, what's your status?"

"_We're still green. Six hostiles down."_

There was another small set of gunshots.

"_Make that seven down. Man, I _hate_ cats. This shit is getting too creepy, Hawk."_

Almost as if on cue, the lights flickered, sputtered, and went out.

"_You gotta be shittin' me, man,"_ one of Hartwell's agents groaned as flashlights clicked on.

"_Cut the chatter, Echo Five,"_ Hartwell ordered. _"The rest of the floor's green, Hawk. Moving to regroup."_

"Copy that, Echo One," Barton replied, poking his head out of the hallway to check for a suitable meeting place. "We're finishing up in the IT room. Regroup at Lab Five. Last one on the left. Let's clear the last of the floor and hold for Stark's report once he gets into the network and finds us a better floor plan."

"_Sounds like a plan, Hawkeye. Comin' up on your six in about three minutes." _

Luckily, the team had prepared for the power outage. Rummaging in one of his bags, Reagan pulled out several glow-sticks, tossing one to each team member. Several snaps later, the rooms and hallways glowed eerily as the agents clipped their glow-sticks to their tactical vests.

There was some ambient light in the area, thankfully, shining in through the lab windows. As the team progressed towards the rear of the building, their attention was caught by a bright patch of sunlight. A wave crashed in the distance, coming from the ocean.

"Uh oh," Oyuki muttered. "Is it just me, or do you guys feel a draft?"

"Sir," one of Hartwell's men called from further down the hall, "we've got busted cages here. Looks like seven altogether."

Clint swore, aiming his rifle towards the door to his left with the patch of sunlight. As he advanced into the room, he found himself in a damaged office. The single window on the back wall sat broken, the jagged edges of glass stained with blood. Examining the windowsill closer, he found more shards of glass on the ground outside.

Something had broken the window from the inside.

"Command," he growled, activating his communicator again. "We've got a breach."

"_Talk to me, Hawkeye,"_ Coulson's voice replied.

He looked back down at the tracks, tracing them backwards and finding multiple bloody paw prints on the sill. "Looks like at least one dog, possibly others have slipped containment. Seven suspected targets."

"_Copy that, Hawkeye. We're notifying the perimeter teams."_

"_Uh, Command?"_ Stark's voice cut in. _"You boys and girls may want to take a look at this. Jarvis just finished breaking the encryption on their utility management system."_

Reagan pulled out his tablet, alerted by a _beep_. Pulling up the file sent by the AI, the team leaders huddled over the screen, observing a wire-diagram and 3D mockup of the lower levels. Several locations along the power line indicators were flashing red.

"_As you can see, there are multiple levels of detention cells, and at least three viral research labs. By my count, we're looking at twenty jail cells per level. You can probably count on at least one zombie per cell,"_ Stark informed them, his voice uncharacteristically serious. _"I'm about to make it through the lower level access grate now. I'll have a visual confirmation in about five minutes. We've got power fluctuations too, judging by the lovely flickering lights."_

Coulson's voice cut in. _"We've just gotten an update from the satellites. Currently, Infra-red shows many smaller heat signatures. They could be human or animal, but either way, there's a lot more showing up than what's listed on the personnel roster and lab inventories than what we were told, Director."_

"_Keep on it,"_ Fury's voice ordered. _"Hill has advised me that the new estimates show approximately three to five per cell, so we're looking at a massive population of infected. Do _not_ dilly-dally in there, people. Find the targets and get your asses outta there. We're gonna burn this place down to the ground."_

"Shit," Barton swore, his face growing pale after examining the power fluctuations. "They're cutting power. No power means no security unless they've got it hardwired or bolted in. Those fuckers are turning them loose!"

"Hey Boss! We found the spot!" one of the Twins cried, motioning wildly and pointing towards the hallway.

* * *

_Stark's Villa, several miles outside of Venice, Italy..._

Tony squinted as the drone switched to Night-Vision mode. The small machine had moved quickly through the ventilation system, locating a downward shaft that had led to what was labeled as "Sub-level 1" on the shiny metal siding. Activating the cutting torch, he guided the bot towards the grate.

"How is it looking?" Pepper asked, setting a large glass of green tea on the table next to him. She had changed into a comfortable set of pajamas, and thankfully hadn't complained too much about his impromptu assistance in this new SHIELD fiasco.

She was too good for him, really.

Settling herself into the small loveseat next to Tony's laptop, she turned to watch the screen. Connecting to the drone had been child's play for him, thanks to Jarvis. While he would prefer to use a joystick for better manual control, the keyboard seemed to adapt with little trouble.

"Well, the lights just went out, so that's not helping things," Tony explained, reaching for the glass and taking a sip. "On the plus side, it's the perfect opportunity to test the night vision and infra-red modes."

Pepper smiled as she pulled out her tablet, taking notes as he dictated the current status of the drone. Out of habit, he began rattling off his opinions of the small bot's performance, including control responsiveness, signal strength, and various other details. Some of it made no sense to the CEO, but she had spent enough time with Tony that she was able to understand at least some of his rambling.

"Oh, and make a note that the winterization seems to be working, so let's focus on pressure support. If the drone holds up to freaking Alaska temps, the insulation may be working after all," Tony commented, moving the drone forward now that the grate had been removed. "Ah, there we go!"

Peeking out of the grate, he guided the robot towards the nearest hallway. There was the sound of footsteps as a person wearing a heavy suit ran by in a panic. The audio picked up the sound of a shriek as the drone turned around a corner.

"That doesn't sound good," the inventor remarked quietly.

The drone passed another fallen worker, dressed in a torn, bulky outfit. The greenish- grey spectrum of the night-vision camera didn't give him enough details to make out the labels. Another worker lay on the ground convulsing as another larger form lumbered away from it.

He frowned. "And that doesn't _look_ very good."

The figure turned, growling as it stepped towards the robot. There was a slight _clink_ as the drone's leg stepped on a piece of glass and fallen debris. It tilted its head and crouched down to look at the crab-like robot.

"Let's see if we can get a better look," Tony murmured, zooming in towards where the face should be. He immediately wished he hadn't. With a hiss of surprise, he pressed a button to take a screenshot as he backed the drone away and fled. "Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy _shit_."

"What's wrong, Tony?" Pepper asked, frowning in concern. "Tony?"

"Uh… you don't want to look at that," he told the redhead. "Jarvis, save the screenshot and forward it to Agent Barton."

* * *

_Back at the Harbinger Biotech facility..._

The rest of the team quickly met up after clearing the rest of the floor. All of the humans that had been infected were tallied and reported back to Command. Another beep from Reagan's tablet informed them that they had been sent another file.

"_You boys need to see this."_ Stark's voice sounded spooked. _"These things have been beaten with the ugly stick. No, more like fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."_

They looked at the tablet, seeing the misshapen face in greenish-grey.

"_Night-vision's your best bet for now until we can get the power back up. The asshole that borked the system's got some sort of lockdown that's giving Jarvis major trouble. Whatever these things are, they're big and they're ugly… and uh, well. Just be careful."_

"Shit," Hawkeye commented softly.

The debris lying on the ground in the video appeared to be part of a glass or plexi-glass fronted door. As the camera panned upwards, they took a look at what they were expecting to face. The rest of the team frowned as the video was paused and passed around for them to take a look.

"What the hell is that?" one of Team Echo's agents commented sourly. "That wasn't in the briefing, sir."

Clint chose to tamp down his shock, trying to stay calm. "Any sign of our friends?"

"Not yet, though I'm only on the first sub-level," Stark replied. "I'm making my way towards the back section. There's a lotta empty cages, guys. So far, the ones with occupants have all been these ugly bastards. According to the wiring schematics, there should be a storage room towards the back of the floor, along with a lab. You've got a lot of nasties to clear out."

"Copy that," Clint replied softly. He turned back to face the rest of the team. "Alright, agents. You've seen what these things can do. We're about to run into more, and they look like they're bigger and stronger than the others. If you want out, now's the time to say so. We won't hold it against you."

None of the agents moved to leave, and instead gave him a baleful look in return.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Then let's kick some ass. Standard entry formation, expect a hostile welcome. Nobody splits up, nobody gets left behind. Remember- you've got twenty seconds if you get bit, so don't let them get close if you can avoid it. If your partner gets bit, take them down. In and out; do _not_ try to be a hero."

"Yes sir!" the agents chorused.

"Command, this is Hawkeye," Clint spoke, activating his comm. "Preparing for entry into the lower level. Tell the perimeter teams to prepare for strays."

_"Copy that, Hawkeye."_ Coulson's voice replied calmly._ "Watch yourselves down there, team. Fourteen go down, sixteen come up- are we clear?"_

"Copy that, sir!" the agents acknowledged in unison.

Steeling himself, Clint prepared the entry plan. "Hartwell, you know your people best. Teams of two, make sure we have one team covering the rear. Watch the ceiling, the sides and catwalks. These things are ruthless and relentless. They'll come from any angle, and they won't stop until they're dead."

Team Echo nodded, acknowledging the senior field agent as he continued. "Chavez, you and Reagan are with me once we confirm Romanoff and Sitwell's locations. Oyuki, you're with the Twins. Let's get that door open."

"Got it, sir!" Reagan told Barton, taking the keycard that Bailey had provided. The tech slid the card into the reader, watching as the indicator light turned green. The door slid open quietly.

Filing in quickly, the team found themselves facing the large, thick metal doors blocking the way into the lower levels. Reagan and Haas, Team Echo's technician, quickly made their way to the lock. Several swipes of the key later, the door still hadn't opened, its indicator remaining red.

"Shit," Haas remarked, looking back to Barton and Hartwell. "They've overridden the lock, sirs."

"You gotta be kidding me. Leave access to the first door but lock down the second?" Hawkeye replied with a snort.

"It's probably part of the initial lockdown procedures," Haas said after cutting into a conduit to check the wiring. She pulled out a test meter and clipped it to the wires, checking the connections. "Sir, this things hardwired. As soon as the power got locked down, it threw the bolts. It's not budging."

"Oyuki," Hawkeye ordered. "You're up. Everyone else take cover."

The agents returned to the first entry door and took cover behind the walls. Swinging the Destroyer Gun up towards the large door, Oyuki flicked the power switch with his thumb. A whining sound filled the small hallway, growing louder as the barrel in front of the gun glowed orange.

The bomb tech braced himself and prepared to fire. "Fire in the hole!"

* * *

_SHIELD Temporary Command Center, Rockhurst Bay Sheriff Station…_

"I do not like this waiting," Thor complained, pacing slowly along the row of laptops sitting on top of the Sheriff's counter. "My place is alongside my shield-brother, not wasting time here."

"I know it's aggravating, Thor, but please be patient," Coulson told the anxious Asgardian. "They're still clearing the building."

"While we spend our time idly watching these machines, our friends are potentially walking into combat," the warrior groused, sweeping a hand out to indicate the laptops. "We should be out- "

"Sir!" one of the support agents cried, standing up to get Coulson's attention. "There's movement at Checkpoint Three!"

The senior agent and prince both turned to where the younger man was pointing. Several blips showed on the infra-red cameras, making their way towards the checkpoint. Reaching for his radio, Coulson swore.

"Checkpoint Three, this is Command. Hostiles are incoming." Coulson turned to Thor. "Thor, would you mind backing them up?"

The Asgardian prince smiled at the prospect of battle. "With pleasure."


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb! Also, thanks especially to Hawksicle for the book cover!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Warning: This chapter contains zombies or zombie-like critters, and it may be a bit more graphic than previous chapters. If that's not really your cup of tea, you may want to skip ahead to a later chapter.

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech Sub-Levels, Rockhurst Island, earlier…_

"So you see, you really should- what the hell was that?" Cobalt snapped, his attention drawn by the alert.

The yellow-suited AIM flunky jogged over to the entrance of the sub-level, followed closely by one of his fellow guards. With a quick swipe of his card, the door opened, revealing flickering lights, broken viewing windows, and several figures covered in blood and torn clothing.

The figures turned to stare at the newcomers, their moves almost in unison.

"Don't just stand there, Freddy- shut the door!" the other AIM goon cried, pressing the button rapidly.

Fred turned to glance at his companion, still frozen in shock. Their employer hadn't told them there was a way for the staff upstairs to get infected, but then again, the AIM representatives had spent most of their time hidden away in the facility's four sub-levels. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Turning back towards the hallway, he found himself staring at an infected woman, who gave him a feral smile. Looking down, he found her hands wrapped his forearm. With a feral smile, she yanked it upwards and bit down, savaging the limb like a rabid dog. He screamed in pain as she and several others grabbed at his outfit, pulling him into the hallway as the door shut close behind him.

"Sorry, Freddy!" the other AIM guard apologized, falling back against the steel door. He sat there for several minutes, his breathing finally slowing. Scrambling to his feet, he took off at a run towards his employer.

Meanwhile, Horatio Cobalt had finally finished a second questioning session with Agent Romanoff while the good Senator observed. The spy refused to give any useful details, and the former CIA operative couldn't help but sense that he was being played somehow. Her companion had fallen into a stupor, shivering from cold and the damage that Kevin had inflicted.

Cobalt turned to the door, distracted by the panicked guard. "Yes, Bob?"

"Sir, somehow… somehow," the man stuttered, "they got loose. The staff up top's been infected- they're all over!"

"Don't just stand there," Director Thompson snapped, entering the room swiftly, a satchel thrown haphazardly over her shoulder. She seemed to be breathing heavily, as if she had been running. "There's been an outbreak upstairs. Lock it down, now!"

"I thought you said this couldn't happen," Bradley commented crossly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "How do you propose to deal with it now?"

She scoffed at him. "I said it _shouldn't_ happen, not that it couldn't. You _did_ read my reports, didn't you? I warned you of the possibility of an outbreak. It's always a risk when you deal with any virus!"

"This is not a flu, Director- it's not something we can shrug off after some accidental exposure. It creates things like _those_," Cobalt countered, pointing back towards the cells holding the test subjects. Their snarling and growling had risen in volume. He moved to a nearby console and began to make adjustments on the panel. "We're stuck between those monstrosities and SHIELD, who I suspect should be arriving within hours."

"Now is not the time to argue about semantics. Let's just get the hell out of here!" Bradley snarled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"What about the prisoners?" one of the remaining AIM guards asked, turning to Thompson. "What are your orders, ma'am?"

"Leave them," the Director ordered, a frantic look on her face. "They'll just slow us down. I am _not_ going to die for some stupid spy game- our work is too important! There's an escape tunnel on Sub-level Four leading to a dock. We'll take the boat out."

"What about the other AIM personnel?"

"They've all signed waivers- they knew what they were getting into. They're on their own," she commented as they left the storage room, leaving the door locked behind them. "Senator, if you please?"

"Whatever," the politician mumbled, his face growing more fearful as the cries of the test subjects grew louder as they worked themselves into a frenzy. "Just get us the hell out of here. I'll get on the horn to the Pentagon- we'll need to clean this up, and fast."

"Boat's waiting at the dock, sir," Cobalt advised, hanging up a phone. "I would suggest we hurry."

"They're all locked up down here," Thompson replied. "As long as those upper doors stay shut, we're fine."

The small group moved quickly, leaving the rest of the AIM personnel to run around the facility, checking dials, pressure gauges, and control panels. The alarm gave them a sense of urgency that allowed them to ignore the small group headed towards the underground dock.

As the party began boarding the boat, Cobalt pulled out his phone, tapping several times on the screen.

"This is no time to be texting," the Senator told the former agent as he took a seat in the boat. "What could possibly be so interesting?"

Horatio smirked at him, pocketing the phone as he stepped into the small watercraft. A tap on the boat pilot's shoulder signaled the man to power on the engines. "Just leaving a little goodbye present for our friends, Senator."

Within seconds, the engines powering the backup generator shut down, leaving the cavern without any lights except for the daylight shining through the cavern opening. The boat pilot flipped a switch, turning on a spotlight mounted on the bow. One last pull of the mooring line and a light shove with his boot had the boat drifting from the small pier.

Raising his voice over the sound of the engine, the Senator huddled closer to the small pilot's cabin. "What happens now?"

"We make for the mainland," Horatio explained. "The power outage should allow the… _test subjects_, as you call them, enough time to free themselves. SHIELD will be delayed trying to contain them, unless they're taken out by your little monstrosities. Either way, we get a clear path out of here."

* * *

_Back in the storage room…_

Natasha elbowed Jasper lightly, attempting to wake him. The other agent had fallen into a near slumber from the cold and pain. Slipping her hands to her belt, she finally retrieved the small lockpick embedded in the leather. Picking the cuffs, she quickly slipped the knots holding them in place, letting the rope fall to the floor.

"Sitwell," she said, gently prodding him awake after picking his cuffs. "_Sitwell_. This is no time to fall asleep, damn it!"

"Unghh," he groaned, shaking himself awake with a wince. He put a hand to his shoulder wound.

Natasha smiled. "Glad to see you're still with us."

"Of course," Sitwell replied. His forehead felt hot and feverish, though his cheeks were flushed a soft pink. "It's nice and cozy in here."

Holding a hand to his forehead, she frowned. The red shade showing through his shirt told the Black Widow that his wound may have opened up again. He needed medical attention, and the sooner the better. Based on Fury's intel, an open wound left him even more vulnerable to the Project Red virus if Thompson was correct about the outbreak.

Pulling the bandage and cloth away slowly, she winced as she found reddened and inflamed skin around the bullet wound. "We need to keep this covered until we can get to safety."

"Damn," he cried as she tried to re-wrap the bandage. "That stings. Maybe being a zombie would hurt less… "

Natasha scowled at him. "Don't even joke about that. We're getting out of here. It just… might take a little longer than I expected."

Searching along the walls and shelves, she located and discarded several tools, finding them useless. An air vent sat at the top of the back wall, but the grate was too small for a person to fit through. Natasha crossed her arms, tapping a finger to her chin as she tried to work out how to turn the small scraps of junk into a workable weapon or lockpick. So far, the possibilities with her current set of materials didn't look promising.

Shortly after the AIM leaders and the Senator had left, the lights began to flicker, until they finally went out. Less than a minute later, the screeches began, followed by several panicked yells as several faint emergency lights turned on. While it was enough to provide light for several parts of the facilities, it wasn't enough to illuminate the hallways outside of the storage rooms.

"What the hell was that?" Sitwell's voice asked from behind her.

"Thompson said there was an outbreak in the main facility. They may have gotten downstairs." Natasha could hear a slight shuffling noise as the agent tried to lift himself up. "Power's out. We've got to get moving, or we're going to be trapped in here with those things."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Jasper complained with a groan.

Natasha returned to her brief, touch-based check of the storage room door, cursing whoever's bright idea it was to turn out the lights. It was solid metal, with a heavy deadbolt activated by an electronic lock. She huffed in annoyance after her brief examination; at least a mechanical lock was still pickable.

Sitwell tapped the wall as he moved forward, trying to keep Natasha aware of his location in the darkness. The tapping stopped suddenly. "Hey- do you hear that?"

A loud _brrong_ echoed throughout the cavern.

"It wounded like a weapon of some sort," Natasha commented softly, a smile reaching her lips. "He had better have my knives at least."

"Who?"

"Clint," she replied with an unseen smirk. "You know Fury won't let anyone else lead a rescue team into this mess."

"_What am I, chopped liver?"_ Tony Stark's voice, accompanied by a metallic skittering, cut in through the darkness. _"I'm hurt, Agent Romanoff. You wound me. I mean, seriously- everybody knows that _I'm_ the brains of this operation."_

A small light glowed through the crack beneath the door. She stepped to the side, allowing the light to shine through. Sitwell, while looking rough, now had a look of relief on his face. They shared a knowing smile; there was no way their closest friends would leave them behind.

"Stark, if it wasn't for Pepper, I would kiss you right now," she told the inventor.

Pepper's voice answered. _"Don't worry, Natasha- I'll kiss him for you."_

There was a muffled chuckle. _"I'll hold you to that. Give me a couple minutes to see what I can do about the doors- we need to get you guys out of here, but I'm not sure you kids want to leave until the cavalry arrives."_

"You could just blast the door, you know," Sitwell said, wincing as he moved his shoulder.

"_Well,"_ Stark replied, _"I _could_ blast it off if I was in my normal suit, but due to circumstances I've had to improvise."_

"Improvise?"

"_Yes, improvise. I'll chock the parroting up to you guys having a major brain-freeze right now. Damn, it's cold in here. You guys ought to see these temperature readings- if my current body wasn't metal, I'd shiver."_

There was a loud shriek from the right of the door. The skittering grew frantic, moving from a clattering on the stone ground to a ticking on the door as something crawled up the metal. Soon, the shrieking faded, morphing into a frustrated growling right outside the door.

"_Hey! Watch it, pizza face! That thing's expensive!"_

There was another frantic snarl, followed by a _zzort_.

"_That'll teach ya, you little… Um, Hawkeye, I found Romanoff and Sitwell. You may want to haul ass." _Stark's voice held a tone of urgency, and Natasha wasn't sure she wanted to see the reason why. _"She's okay. They both are. Romanoff? You and Sitwell are still alive and in one piece right? Sub-level Three, grid Bravo Twenty, guys - they're both locked up in a storage locker. Alright, ugly- _now_ you've done it. Activate Defense Mode!"_

Defense mode? Natasha held an ear to the door, listening as the growls turned to screeching as the zaps became more frequent. After several more zaps, there was a hiss and thud as a body hit the floor.

"_Defense Mode engaged." _ A tinny, unfamiliar voice came from whatever strange device that Stark had been using. _"Avast ye, landlubber! Ye'll not be getting' past the dread Scurvy! YARR!"_

* * *

_SHIELD Temporary Command Center…_

Coulson shook his head, not quite believing what he was seeing. Hawkeye's predictions had been uncannily accurate, just like his aim. The several small blips had multiplied into many more small red dots on the infra-red scanners. Reports from the outer checkpoints were now estimating at least twenty small animals heading towards the perimeter.

When the first dog charged the barrier, the squad leader hadn't hesitated to give the fire order. The dog had collapsed immediately as the bullets slammed into it, only to be trampled by a small herd of rats. The smaller creatures had slipped into the tree-line of the small hills and mountain on the outskirts of town, and were much harder to spot.

Barton had been right. The rats were becoming more of a nuisance than the larger infected creatures, spreading out and infecting nearly every living thing they had come across, from small mammals to larger animals and domestic livestock.

"_Is that a sheep?"_ a startled voice asked over the comms. _"Oh God, there's a whole _herd_ of them!"_

Coulson ran a hand over his face in annoyance. "I don't care if it's Bambi. If they're infected, just _shoot_ them."

"_Roger that, Command." _

"_Oh geez, this is just wrong, sir!"_

"_Keep firing, ya idjits!"_

"_I swear I am _never_ counting sheep again."_

"_Those are goats, man. Mountain goats, not sheep."_

Thor's voice boomed over the comm, and Coulson winced as he lost any chance of holding a steady grip on radio discipline. _"Stand ready, soldiers, lest you be struck by Mjolnir's lightning."_

"_Command, zombie sheep are toast. Smokin-"_

"_Rats to the left- sic 'em, Thor! Uh… please?"_

"_Gladly."_

"_Cut the chatter, everyone," _one of the squad leaders ordered, trying to restore some discipline on the open comm line. _"Important information and tactical updates only." _

There were several poorly hidden snickers from the analysts as they tried to focus on their screens. Coulson sighed. Good junior agents were getting harder and harder to find these days. Turning back to the screen, he watched as the blips vanished one by one as the marksmen and Thor thinned the ranks.

Switching to another channel, Coulson contacted the evacuation teams. "Evac teams, this is Command. What's your status?"

"_Dr. Banner's still looking okay- he's been helping the Sheriff distract the civilians. We've got about three more boatloads ready to go, sir,"_ Agent Lincoln reported. _"So far, we've got eleven boats already sent and headed for the mainland. Two of the skippers radioed in- it looks like the Coast Guard and the Navy are on the way to escort the boats. We're not sure who called them, sir."_

The veteran agent frowned, pulling his phone out and sending a quick text to Fury. This wasn't something he wanted heard over the comm lines, even by accident. The US military hadn't been part of the plan. A quiet chime reported a reply from the Director.

_Senator called them. Try to incorporate them if possible, but keep them away from the island. Pentagon is sending War Machine for support. _

War Machine? His fingers flashed over the keypad as he replied. _**WM would be welcome. Infected estimates off due to small animals infecting local wildlife and livestock. **_

_How off?_

_**Thor just fried a herd of ovines. It's creeping out the men.**_

_Sheep? Tell me you're joking._

_**Goats maybe. No joke. **_

_Need new estimates. May need Plan B. _

_**Working on it.**_

_Work faster._

_Harbinger Biotech Sub-levels…_

The agents eased through the large hole created by the Destroyer Gun, weapons at the ready as they looked around the hallway. Behind them, the techs had managed to jury-rig the upper door to allow it to be closed or opened as needed; there was no sense leaving an open door if anything managed to get by them. Thankfully, most of the infected wouldn't be smart enough to use a keycard.

As ordered, one pair monitored each side of the walkway while others monitored the other directions. One of the agents in the lead held up a hand in an "All Clear" signal. Moving carefully, they began entering the sub-levels.

Clint listened to his comm as Stark finished his newest report. Reagan and Haas had already pulled up the maps and were looking for the quickest path to Sub-Level Three. So far, the only path that didn't use an elevator or lift was a small staircase at the far end of the sub-level.

"Stark, any word on whether or not Jarvis has busted through that lockdown code yet? We're almost blind in here," Clint said, his eyes scanning the large, open area in front of them.

"_Nope. This guy's good, whoever he is. That, or he's got a damn good programmer,"_ Stark commented.

Clint swore under his breath. "Team, switch to night vision. Watch for light flares. Jarvis, try to give us a ten-second warning if you can get the lights back on, please."

"_Noted, Hawkeye."_ Jarvis had thankfully learned to refer to the agents by their call-signs after working with the SHIELD agents. Stark tried to keep the AI out of missions unless Jarvis was operating the Iron Man suit, and Clint could hardly disagree, regardless of how useful the cyber-butler was.

Clint couldn't help but think of Jarvis as a civilian instead of just a computer program.

"Hawk, I'm takin' my team to finish clearing the labs. The maps say there should be one per level," Hartwell said, his large form straightening as he peered down the first level corridor. "It'll be faster if we split up, seein' how crowded these catwalks are getting. We'll keep looking for the special targets."

"Go for it, Big Man," Clint replied. He couldn't disagree; the number of agents on the catwalk was quickly leaving little room to maneuver if they were to be attacked. "Check-ins no more than five minutes, got it?"

"Gotcha."

As the other team began to sweep the first sub-level, Clint signaled for the remaining agents to continue towards the stairs near the back of the floor. The area was thankfully quiet, with the only sound being the occasional footstep or rustle of clothing. After traversing the long series of catwalks, they arrived at a narrow set of metal steps marked with a small sign indicating a "2" above an arrow.

Leading the way down, the archer kept an eye out for any sounds or movements that might signal an ambush. A drip echoed steadily as they went further down, and the team could see the occasional droplets of water falling from the heating units from the ventilation system. The condensation hadn't had time to fully cool off yet, keeping ice from being a hazard for the time being.

A loud hiss echoed after they had reached Sub-level Two. Signaling a halt, the team waited for the enemy to come to them. Minutes later, a low growl came from the shadows, followed by a grotesque, bipedal figure, who leaped at Hawkeye with a feral screech.

The creature was massive. Large scales covered the man's chest like armor plates, and his shoulders had taken on a pebbly texture. A short, stubby tail had ripped through what was left of the test subject's clothing and wiggled frantically.

Clint aimed his M-4, targeting the creature's heart and opened fire. The creature jerked back as the bullets hit, punching through the organic armor. Groaning, it fell backwards and lay still as two more infected men charged forward.

"Did you see that tail, sir?" Oyuki called as he fired his pistol at an attacker. While it packed a large punch, the Destroyer Gun took too long to charge for it to be used on anything but an emergency or a large hunk of metal. "I could've sworn that was a lizard or something."

"Yeah," Clint replied with an annoyed tone. "Might've been funny too, if the damn thing wasn't trying to rip my head off."

Several more of the creatures rushed the team as they moved forward, attacking from various crevices, corners, and even a broom closet. Finally, the team reached a door labeled with a small placard. Chavez reached up to shut off his night-vision, holding a glow-stick up to the door while the others cleared the alcove.

_SPECIAL PROJECTS LAB 2_

"Got a lab here, sir," the Minion team leader called, waving the older agent over.

Clint moved to the door, inspecting the lock. "Reagan, think you can open it?"

"I might be able to reroute the controls," the tech replied, pulling out a flashlight as the team switched off their night vision. He clicked on the light, inspecting the wiring. "Looks like this one's on a different circuit, sir. We may be in luck."

They watched the hallway while the tech worked on the laboratory door lock. After a few minutes of tinkering, Reagan cackled with glee as the door slid open with a hiss. The team entered cautiously, finding themselves in a small, poorly lit lab.

Hawkeye nodded to the others while Chavez reported their entry to Command. He reached for a light switch, flicking it up and down. There was no response from the lights.

A light bang from one of the larger supply cabinets drew their attention. Signaling to the Twins to watch the door, the archer approached the cabinet in time to hear a quiet whimper. He frowned and reached over to knock on the thin steel door.

The cabinet rattled, and the agents stepped back as the doors flew open. A bedraggled figure wearing a lab coat tumbled out, looking around the room frantically. The man glanced up at the team and cried out in relief.

"Oh, thank _God_," the man cried, pulling himself to his feet. "P-p-please- you have to help me! They've gone insane!"

The team looked at each other, then back at the man. Noting the name on his badge, Clint stepped forward. "Dr. Walker, I presume?"

The man nodded vigorously. "Y-yes. Please, you have to get me out of here. I- I- I have information. I have… I have records- anything you want. Please! I don't want to die here with these… _things!_"

"We'll get you out of here, but we've got a couple people to rescue first. What are they doing in this lab?" Clint asked, lowering his rifle slightly.

Dr. Walker quieted his frantic murmurs, his eyes focusing. "I- I wasn't told everything, but they said something about fixing some sort of genetic anomaly in some of the test subjects. They s-said I had to work on it or they'd t-turn me into one of the experiments."

"Alright. You guys know the drill," Hawkeye ordered, looking over to the other agents. Reagan had already started removing the hard drive from the lab's computer, and looked up at the senior agent. "We've still got a floor to go. Let's get moving."

Turning to the civilian, he motioned towards the door. "We're not done here yet. You can either go with us, or take a chance on your own. The way to the top should be clear."

As if to spite him, there were several gunshots followed by a pair of pained howls.

Clint shrugged. "Okay… _now_ it should be clear."

* * *

_Storage room, Sub-level Three…_

Natasha heard another squeal and thump, followed by another cry of outrage from Stark's mystery device. The small machine had guarded their storage room with the vigor of a paladin defending his fair maiden's honor. She wasn't sure at this point if it was still Stark controlling it, or whether the creature had a will of its own like the inventor's other robotic creations.

"_Shiver me timbers, bucko- what took ye so long?"_ the tinny voice called out to someone as Natasha picked up the sound of several booted footsteps. _"I been inundated with bilge rats up to me cuttin' torch!"_

"Unholy jiminy crickets, Jed- now there's _three_ pirate minions?" a voice complained. "The Pirate King's been recruitin' again."

"Oh, shut yer mouth, Ted."

Sitwell groaned at the familiar sound of the Twins arguing. "Romanoff, just shoot me. Again."

"Oh, for the love of… Stark? Call off your damn robot!"

Clint's voice had never been so welcome. Natasha glanced back at Sitwell, and banged on the door. "Clint! Get your ass in here!"

"Nat? Hang on- we'll have you out in a sec."

She ducked down to Sitwell, pulling his good arm over her shoulder and easing him up. Together, they moved away from the door. The other agent was weakening as his fever rose, and would most likely be unable to make it out on his own.

There was a quiet _whump_ as a Doorbuster destroyed the lock on the door, allowing it to creak open. Clint stood in the doorway, armed to the teeth and dressed nearly head to toe in Kevlar. Strike Team Mike stood outside of the hallway, with the exception of Chavez, who entered the room with his medical kit.

"How long has he been injured?" the medic-trained agent asked quickly, pulling out a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope to take the older man's vitals.

Natasha frowned, taking the thin thermal blanket that he had dug out of the kit and held out to her. "Two days, I think. The wound was re-opened by one of interrogators, and I think it's beginning to fester, based on his fever. There haven't been any clocks in here, so I'm not sure how long it's been."

She took the knives that Clint held out to her as Chavez quickly checked the wound, hissing as he spotted the reddened wound. Cutting a slit in the blanket, she slid her head through it and re-fastened her belt around her waist, forming a makeshift poncho. Shivering slightly, she slipped the knives into hidden pockets in her clothing and turned back to Clint, who now held out a small pouch.

"Just in case," he said with a shrug.

She arched an eyebrow, eyeing his new uniform. "So. Decided that sleeves were in this season?"

"Well, it being arctic temperatures, and all," he replied softly with a smirk. "You know I like to keep people on their toes."

Pointing at the small crab-like robot, she looked at her partner quizzically. "And what the hell is the deal with _that?_"

"What, Tony-bot?" Clint asked innocently. "Stark wanted to help. He was too exposed with that lovely quasi-open wound in his chest, so… "

"Tony-bot," she repeated, nodding in understanding.

"And, I guess Pepper-bot, too, since she's probably sitting right next to him."

"Oh no- the _vacation_," Natasha remembered with a pout, taking out her Widow's Bite cuffs and slipping her hands into them. She turned back to look at Sitwell, who now had a dreamy expression on his face. A small pile of wound dressings were laying on the bag next to Chavez, while a pile of bloodied bandages sat discarded next to them.

Chavez had worked quickly, trying to staunch the bleeding and create a seal over the bullet wound. Pulling out a disinfecting spray, he gave the wrapping a generous coating before wrapping it with a thicker Ace bandage.

"Doesn't that stuff go _under_ the bandages?" Clint asked, his nose wrinkling. That particular spray was notorious for its strong odor. Many field agents had begged the R&D department to do something about it, but so far they had been unsuccessful.

"It covers up the smell of blood, sir," Chavez replied with a shrug.

"I might be able to help," a timid voice said, coming from behind Clint. "I'm a doctor."

"Think we got it covered, Doc," Chavez told the geneticist. "As much as I hate to admit it, we don't have time to redo all of this until we're at the evac point."

"O-okay."

Natasha glanced behind the archer to find Dr. Walker standing amongst the Minions, his hands holding a pistol nervously. She looked back over at Hawkeye, arching an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff of annoyance; their partnership had progressed over time to the point where they didn't need words.

A raised eyebrow._ What's he doing here? _

A shrug from Clint._ Couldn't leave the poor sucker behind._

She rolled her eyes. _Softie. He's going to shoot himself with that thing, you know. _

He let out a resigned sigh._ Yeah, yeah. I know. But still… it was either arm him or feed him to the monsters._

She rubbed an eyebrow tiredly._ I hope this isn't a mistake. _

"I'm glad to see you're still with us, Doc," Natasha told the doctor dryly. Reagan held out an earpiece to her. She thanked him quickly as she put on the earpiece and activated it. "Command, this is Black Widow. I'm back online."

"_Happy to hear your voice, Widow,"_ Coulson's voice answered. _"Welcome back. Status?"_

"Still alive. Sitwell has a gunshot wound to the shoulder. He's probably going to need to be carried out, but it looks like the boys have that covered," she reported. "Sir, Senator- "

"_We're aware, Widow. They're not the priority at the moment. Director Thompson and the Senator are secondary objectives. You, Sitwell, and the data are primary."_

Natasha blinked in surprise. "You should know that according to Thompson, there's a dock with a boat at Sub-Level Four. If you have air support, they should be escaping on a boat. They've got a couple hours head start. There's a troubleshooter named Horatio Cobalt with them- sort of a chief enforcer."

"_We'll look into it. For now, concentrate on extraction."_

"Acknowledged, Command." Before she could say anything more, a deep cry of rage that was more like a roar echoed throughout the cavern.

"_What the hell was that?"_ Stark's voice asked, his voice sounding normal from where the drone was wrestling with one of the Twins. _"That sounded big. That sounded _really_ big. That sounded Hulk-sized big."_

"I don't like the sound of that, brother," the other Twin commented, training his weapon over the side nervously.

"T-the juggernaut," Walker replied nervously. "They had me working on him. There were some genetic mutations in the virus that he was infected with- I'm not sure if it was intentional or not."

The cavern rocked slightly, tremors rattling the walls and causing dust to fall from the ceiling. A heavy set of footsteps began repeating. They could only assume that it was getting closer.

"It's a damn _monster_, is what it is," the geneticist cried, reaching for Sitwell's arm and slinging it over his shoulder. "We need to leave _now!_"

Clint's eyes narrowed as he moved over to the third sub-level's catwalk. Switching back to night-vision, he peered over the railing, cursing at what he saw. "You gotta be _shitting_ me."

More infected were pouring out of the lower level, gathering on the deck and surrounding a large, grotesque figure. Several of the test subjects swung their heads towards the upper catwalk, licking their lips as they spotted the SHIELD agents. The over-sized, armored figure gave a roar of fury and lumbered in the direction of the stairs.

"_Hawkeye, I swear I will _never_ make fun of Rule Number One again!"_ Stark cried. The drone and Twin gave up their wrestling match as they gaped at the oncoming hostiles. The bot grabbed on to the agent's gear bag, securing itself to the strap. _"Tally-ho, mini-Agent!"_

"Go, go _go!_" Hawkeye cried, signaling for the team to retreat towards the stairs before activating the comm. "Echo One- we have Romanoff and Sitwell. This place is crawling, man- evac now!"

"_What about the Senator?"_

"Fuck the Senator. We'll get him later. This thing is too big to ignore."

Hartwell hissed in surprise. _"_That's_ what's bringin' down the house? We're feelin' the shakin' up here."_

"Yeah," Clint replied, taking a shot at an approaching test subject as it crawled up the cavern wall. "Sitwell's out of it, but Romanoff's mobile. We'll cover the retreat up to the second level, but get the fuck out!"

"_Copy that, Hawkeye. We'll be waitin' for ya up top."_

The Minions took several more shots at the faster infected who had begun to approach the team, moving to different targets as the test subjects fell dead. They seemed to be making progress until one of them somehow lit itself on fire.

"Oyuki!" Chavez called, leaning down and scooping Sitwell up in a fireman's carry. "BFG- take 'em!"

Oyuki stepped aside as he flicked the charge switch on the Destroyer Gun, pointing it at the encroaching mass. After the last team member had slipped up the staircase, he took a step backwards and braced himself. Aiming at the flaming infected, he fired.

With another _bbrongg_, the Gun spit out a large, bright orange pulse of energy, ripping a hole through the center mass of the zombie. It fell to its knees, finally collapsing on the ground. The demolitions tech didn't wait to see if any others had been hit; keeping his finger near the charge button again, he turned to follow his teammates.

Once they had reached the top, Chavez passed Sitwell over to Regis, who was acting as Echo's medic. The former PJ hefted the older man to a more stable position and began running towards the building exit, allowing his team to clear the way in front.

"Command," Hawkeye's tense voice ordered, "I want a medevac at Extraction Point Charlie. Two agents: one wounded, the other possibly hypothermic. We picked up one civilian scientist who reports he has intel. Get the perimeter teams ready- we're retreating through the front doors, and we've got incoming hostiles on our asses."

"_Copy that, Hawkeye. We're sending a Quinjet,"_ Coulson replied briskly. _"Just concentrate on getting out safely."_

"Working on it," the archer replied, ducking as one of the test subjects leaped at him, ignoring the bullets that tore through its armor.

The creature hissed, picking itself back up and trying to cut him off from the rest of the team. It was fast, dodging his attempts to shoot it with his rifle. Five more monstrosities surrounded the team, each trying to separate the agents and their extra civilian. The agents formed a ring around the wounded and lighter armed men and women, trying to shield them from the attackers.

Hawkeye cursed his luck; this one was almost as fast as Pietro had been when they used to spar, back when he and Wanda had worked with SHIELD. It dodged and weaved with the same fluidity, but not quite the same speed as the former Strike Team Delta team member. As it reached past his rifle to take a swipe at his face, the archer spun around and struck at the back of the infected man's neck with the butt of his M-4.

The creature squealed and spun around, holding the back of its neck as it prepared to charge at him again. It crouched down, darting from side to side. Clint's sharp eyes followed it as he prepared for the next pattern of movement.

As it sped forward, he prepared to treat it the same way he used to treat the Maximoff twin. Moving quickly, he held his right arm out and stepped into the direction of the oncoming infected subject, catching him in a clothesline. The momentum spun the creature into a flip, where Clint reached out again to take hold of one of its feet.

With a mighty heave, he swung the infected man into the wall, ignoring the sickening crack as its head was dashed against the cavern wall, using its momentum to add strength to the maneuver. It fell to the ground, unmoving. Turning back to the fray, the marksman re-shouldered his weapon.

One of the Twins shrieked in pain as one of the last infected attacker slipped under his guard and bit down on his arm. A quick shot from the agent's brother landed in the creature's forehead, putting it down permanently. The team spun around to face the injured Twin, who had backed up against the wall, holding his arm.

"We're clear, sirs- hostiles are down!" one of the Echo agents reported.

The other Twin ran over and tugged at his brother's jacket frantically. "Where'd it get ya, brother? Where?"

"Arm, man… " the Twin moaned. "I ain't dead yet, brother- don't let 'em shoot me, Ted!"

They turned to see the rest of the strike teams pointing their weapons at them, sadness filling their eyes. The uninjured Twin, Jed, stepped in front of his brother, giving them a pleading look.

"Twenty seconds," Jed announced, turning to Hawkeye. "You said it takes twenty seconds, Boss. Well, it's been more, an' he ain't twitchin' yet!"

"Step away, Sanders," Hartwell ordered. "Don't make us shoot your crazy ass."

The Twin drew himself up to his full height, his words taking on a clipped tone. "The cloth isn't broken. It's not torn!"

"He's bleeding, man," one of the Echo team members said softly, pointing at the Twin's arm. "Look."

A small trickle of blood had fallen, leaving several drops on the ground. The Twin glanced down, hissing in pain and fear. His brother raised his M-4, standing firm.

"We're _waiting_, damn it," the Twin argued. "We're giving him a minute. I won't let you shoot Ted. I-if he turns, I'll do it myself!"

They looked to Hawkeye, whose brow was furrowed in concentration as if trying to recall something. He stared intently at the bitten agent and frowned, still calculating. "We wait. I need to be sure of something. Either way, he goes into quarantine when we get out, Sanders."

"Yes sir!" Ted replied gratefully, turning around to take a ready position in the event his brother turned.

After a tense sixty seconds, Reagan nodded to Chavez, indicating time was up. The team leader approached the Twin, shining his penlight into his eyes. The Minions held their breath in anticipation.

Jed's eyes remained blue.

"He's clear," the team leader reported, breathing a sigh of relief as the Twins hugged each other, tears falling down their cheeks.

Hawkeye held a confused but thoughtful expression on his face.

Another tremor rocked the cavern as the over-sized "Juggernaut" began picking up speed. Regis looked over the side of the railing. Shortly afterwards, he turned back to the others, his face stricken.

"The damn thing knows how to climb, sir," the PJ deadpanned, looking at Hartwell as he hefted a groaning Sitwell back onto his shoulders.

"Let's boogey," the Echo team leader ordered, waving them all forward.

Seconds later, there was a low rumble just before the ceiling caved in on them.


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb, and all the readers who have stayed with the story for so long. You guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Warning: This chapter contains zombies or zombie-like critters, and it may be a bit more graphic than previous chapters. If that's not really your cup of tea, you may want to skip ahead to a later chapter.

* * *

_SHIELD Temporary Command Center…_

"Get that channel back online!" Coulson ordered, pointing at one of the analysts, whose hands flew over her control panel. "Stark, do you have a visual?"

"_No video just yet,"_ the inventor replied. _"I'm trying to reboot the system. We'll know in a minute if the satellite drone uplink survived whatever the hell that was."_

"Keep us posted." Coulson turned to one of the other support agents. "Peterson, keep an eye out for anything else crazy."

"Can't be crazier than zombie sheep, sir."

The senior agent fixed Peterson with a baleful look. "I don't believe it's wise to say that until we've gotten a complete inventory of the local livestock and pets. Somehow I doubt we've seen the end of it."

"Bull," one of the junior agents blurted out, his eyes drawn to the window.

Coulson arched an eyebrow. "Your complaint is duly- "

"No, sir," the agent argued, pointing out the window as he backed away from his station. "_Bull!_"

There was a wet, congested bellow from outside the building as the wall caved in. Agents dodged away from the flying debris, ducking shattered glass from the windows as they pulled their weapons. As they rolled to their feet, the infected bull ripped its head from the opening its charge had created.

The bull stood five feet tall at the shoulder, with broad shoulders and red, bloodshot eyes. Shaking its large, whitish-grey horns, it bellowed again. Shaggy brown fur was matted with blood, mud, and wounds, most likely from battling other infected cattle.

"How the hell did it break containment?" Peterson cried, taking shots at the maddened animal.

Coulson ducked behind another counter, waiting for an opportunity to take a shot. "That's just it. It probably literally broke through the damn checkpoint. We need those comms back up!"

The startled agents fired repeatedly at the bull, their panic making several shots fly wide. It continued to rake its horns along the equipment tables, tossing them aside while trying to clear a path to the nearest agent. As it began to stamp its feet in an effort to reach a cowering analyst, a large object struck it in the head, thrown from the outside. It looked up, shook its head, and turned to face its new attacker.

"_Hey!_ Over here!" War machine stood outside, casually tossing a large stone in his hand, preparing for another throw. "Pick on someone your own size!"

The bull charged the armored officer, who sidestepped it with ease. As the monstrous bull skidded to a stop to turn around, Rhodey activated one of the newer weapons in his arsenal. Tossing the stone to the side, he raised his arm and aimed at the animal as it spun around.

A large-caliber barrel rose from the armor gauntlet, pointing at the animal and tracking its movements as it pawed the ground. The weapon fired, barely rocking his arm back as it fired the heavy round. With a wet _splut, _the bull moaned and collapsed on the ground.

Rhodey's faceplate lifted as the SHIELD agents jogged outside. He snorted in dismay. "First time I get upgrades, and I get to use 'em on a damn _cow_."

"Colonel Rhodes," Coulson greeted with a sigh of relief. "Thank you for your assistance."

The officer nodded, returning the greeting. "No problem. Everyone alright?"

"A few bumps and bruises, but otherwise, no injuries," the agent replied. "Our comms are down though. We've lost contact with our extraction team, and after the bull charged the station, we've lost contact with Stark as well."

Rhodey looked down to a small panel on his forearm. "Let's see if we can fix that. Jarvis, you with me, buddy?"

"_I am here, Colonel Rhodes. Mr. Stark is trying to reconnect to the SHIELD Temporary Command Center. Is it safe to assume that their communications are down as well?"_ Jarvis replied in his usual brisk tone.

"Looks like it," the Colonel replied, looking back at the damaged building. "Some kinda crazy bull took out part of the building. The agents are trying to get everything back online now. Can you patch me through to Tony?"

"Very well, sir."

The AI worked quickly, and less than a minute later, Stark's agitated voice began cursing over the speakers in the War Machine Suit. _"-it, Agent! Come in! Anyone? Damn it, don't make me call Fury!"_

"That won't be necessary," Coulson said, leaning a little closer to the speaker. "We've had an attack on the Command Center, but everything's under control for now."

At that moment, Thor decided to make his entrance, landing gently and letting Mjolnir fall to his side. He glanced at the building, then back at the shaken agents. "Is everyone alright? I saw the beast from the air, but was delayed by another attack on the barricade."

"We're fine. A little shaken, but fine," Coulson repeated. "What's the word from Checkpoint Three? We've lost contact with the ground units until we can get the radios back online."

"There was an attack by a group of horses, no doubt maddened by the illness. It took the larger weapons that you brought to bring them down," Thor reported, referring to the heavy weapons that Coulson had requisitioned. The agent was grateful they had brought them now. "I came as soon as I verified that there were no more ill creatures left. This plague has spread _very_ quickly."

"We've accounted for all of domestic livestock, sir!" one of the younger agents said, her hands holding a clipboard as they trembled. "S-sorry for the tardy report, sir, but I had to run from the docks. Based on the reports from the radios, we've accounted for a herd of domesticated mountain goats, five horses, and a small herd of cattle. Looks like the bull killed the other cows, sir. The residents were given orders to evacuate their dogs and cats, and they've all been accounted for as well."

"That doesn't account for the rats, which have spread everywhere," Coulson replied sourly. "Good work, Agent Farnsworth. Now, we just have to keep an eye out for any wild fauna that may have gotten infected. There's about a half a mile of woods and tundra that haven't been cleared. For now, though, Peterson needs help over there."

She nodded, trotting over to help her fellow agent.

"We've got to get in contact with the extraction team. Any luck, Stark?" Coulson asked.

"_Not yet. Whatever it was, it was big. From what I could see before I lost the uplink, most of the upper floor caved in. That means either someone blew the supports underneath, or that thing's as bad as the Hulk when it comes to collateral property damage."_

"Peterson!" the senior agent shouted, fear for the extraction team giving him a sense of urgency. He hoped he wasn't going to be forced to break his promise to Fury to stay away from the front lines.

Peterson looked up from his repairs. "Sir?"

"You're in charge here. Get the agents re-organized and secure the perimeter. I want comms back as soon as you can," Coulson ordered, walking over to one of the equipment cases and pulling out a set of walkie-talkies. "I'm taking Team One to Harbinger Biotech to see if we can find out what the hell is going on."

"Yes sir!"

Coulson turned to Rhodey and Thor. "Colonel Rhodes, if you would mind coming with me? Thor, the men are more familiar with you. I would appreciate it if you would stay here as backup. Dr. Banner should be finishing up shortly with the civilians. He and the dock teams could use a walkie-talkie as well."

"It will be done, Son of Coul." Thor took the offered radio with a curt nod, stepping back to begin spinning Mjolnir in preparation for flight.

Rhodey nodded in agreement with Coulson's orders. He winked at the SHIELD agent. "Want a ride?"

Coulson smiled.

* * *

_Rockhurst Bay docks… _

"That should do it," Bruce commented, handing the last toddler over to her waiting mother's arms. The child waved at him as the fishing trawler began to pull away from the pier.

"I can't believe this is happening," a sad voice said. "Twenty years of peace and quiet. All gone."

Bruce turned, spotting Sheriff Tenor as the man sighed heavily. Tenor had a defeated look; it was one that the physicist had seen many times in his travels. He patted the other man on the shoulder comfortingly.

"I would've thought you'd gone with the rest of the townsfolk," Bruce said, arching an eyebrow. "I think we should leave this to the experts?"

"They do seem pretty organized for a zombie cleanup crew," the Sheriff repeated dryly.

Bruce smiled. "There are enough movies out there that show what _not_ to do. I imagine they've used some of them for pointers."

Tenor shrugged, slinging a shotgun up over his shoulder as three more armed deputies approached and stood next to him. "This is our town. We left a couple reserve deputies with the civilians to help keep order, but in the long run... it's still our responsibility to see this through to the end."

Bruce sighed as a thought snarked its way into his head. _Why doesn't anyone ever listen to the smart guy?_

"Besides," Tenor commented, giving the physicist an appraising look. "You're not exactly the military type yourself, yet you're here."

"Oh no," Bruce replied with a wry smile. "I'm definitely not military. I'm just a consultant."

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech Sub-levels…_

There was a crisp _snap_ as another glow-stick was lit. Several groans came from the rubble as some of the team awakened. Light filled the area, bathing the cavern with a soft, green glow.

Chavez pushed a small timber off of his chest, sliding back until he had cleared the rubble. He looked around the cavern, spotting one of the Twins nearby as he tried to dig himself out of the rubble. Several other team members were strewn haphazardly among the fallen timbers, girders and rocks. The team leader quickly moved over to assist his teammate.

"Ow, ow, _ow_," the Twin hissed, clutching his leg. There was a heavy gash on his upper thigh, surrounded by blood-soaked cloth.

"Damn," Chavez cursed softly, pulling a field dressing out of one of his leg pockets and an alcohol-soaked cloth. As he cleaned the area around the wound, the Minion leader breathed a sigh of relief; the wound looked worse than it actually was. His own wrist ached as he tightened the strap around the bandage. "Don't move too much, buddy. You don't wanna make it worse."

Two other team members within sight began to stir, shaking each other awake and helping each other move the debris around. Sitwell was currently halfway buried under a small pile of debris, Hartwell was digging himself out, and the rest were hidden from view. The rubble began shifting as he spotted a gloved hand pushing rocks out of the way, revealing Haas, who let out a quick curse.

"Stay where you are, guys," the Minion leader ordered, trying to assess the situation. "We need to check for injuries first. Try not to move around too much just yet."

"We need to get outta here, you mean?" one of the Echo team members commented dryly, holding an arm over his ribcage. "_Ow_. On second thought, yeah- I'm just gonna sit _right_ here… "

"Sitwell!" Regis called, his voice carrying as he sat up. "Aw, shit. I dropped him, Chavez! Do you see him?"

"Over here. He's moving around, so that's a good sign," Chavez replied, moving over to the trapped agent. He looked down at the senior agent, putting a hand gently on Sitwell's shoulder. "Stay still, sir- you don't wanna make things worse."

There was a loud gurgle, followed by a shifting of rocks. A large man stumbled out of the debris, dressed in a tattered leather coat and torn, ripped pants. He turned to the moving agents, letting out a growl. This infected man seemed more like the infected that had been upstairs, without any armor or genetic anomalies.

It was almost refreshing.

They were startled by the sound of a gunshot, followed by a small hole appearing in the infected man's forehead. The man wavered before falling to the floor. Both agents glanced down to see Sitwell, shakily holding Chavez's sidearm.

"Bye, Kevin," the agent mumbled. "I'm just gonna sleep now… you boys got this, right? Good."

Regis and Chavez gave each other a puzzled look, shrugged, and set to work re-checking Sitwell's wounds. Moving the fallen timbers off of Sitwell took less than a minute. The Minion leader's eyes narrowed in concentration as he began re-bandaging the shoulder wound.

Holding a penlight in one hand, the other medic began checking the older agent's vitals, frowning as he finished. Regis looked up at Chavez. "He's starting to go into shock. Between the fact that he was already wounded and feverish, and now the collapse...it's too much. We can stabilize him for now, but if we don't get him to a hospital or trauma center soon, he may not make it."

Chavez nodded weakly.

Hartwell began heaving the larger rocks out of the way once he had managed to stand, locating Romanoff. Several shoves later, and enough rocks had been moved that they were able to pull her out and towards their group. She sat up, wincing, and looked around.

"Hawkeye?" Romanoff asked, looking around frantically. "Has anyone seen Barton?"

"He's not here," Hartwell reported with a small cough. "He probably got knocked back, or got buried. Hawk'll turn up- he's like a goddamn bad penny. Yo Regis- how're we looking?"

"We're missing Freely and Ivers," Regis said, looking back at his team leader after doing a quick head-count. "The rest of Echo's here. Where's the rest of Mike?"

"Here," Oyuki replied, waving a hand weakly. "I don't wanna do that again, Boss."

"Where's my brother? Where's Ted?" Jed cried anxiously, digging at the debris. "Say somethin', brother!"

"Aw, shit- _Reagan!_" Chavez spat, finally locating their missing tech.

The agent was being uncovered by two Echo team members. One of them looked over at Regis. "Bobby- over here! He looks pretty bad, man."

"Where's my bag?" The medic swore, glancing from side to side. One of his teammates tossed him a bag as they began first aid on the downed tech.

Chavez finally recovered his own gear bag and retrieved his sidearm from Sitwell. Moving carefully, he approached the small huddle of agents trying to assist Reagan. One of the Echo agents moved out of the way as he knelt down to assist.

Reagan hadn't woken up yet, and the Minion leader was glad that he hadn't. The tech's right arm was bent at an odd angle, indicating a severe break. There was a large gash on his forehead, which had stopped bleeding, but the wound that concerned Chavez the most was the man's abdomen.

As he held the glow-stick over Reagan's midsection, he couldn't miss the section of rebar that had impaled the lower right quadrant of the tech's abdomen. The wound was still bleeding, and he would be lucky if it missed his internal organs. Regis held out the cutting torch from Reagan's bag, returning to packing bandages around the wound.

Chavez wasted no time. Covering the bare skin with another bandage, he activated the cutting torch and quickly cut through most of the rebar, allowing them to move Reagan. They left the section that was still in the tech's abdomen in order to keep the wound from bleeding out until they could medevac him. The team leader swore quietly; this was the first time since the Mjolnir incident that someone on his team had been wounded this badly.

A heavy weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. They were one of the smaller strike teams, and now they were at risk of losing a third of their number. Sitwell and Reagan were more than just tactical support and teammate; they were friends. They were _family_.

"You okay?" Regis asked, drawing his attention. "You still with me, Chavez?"

The Minion leader merely stared at his friend, and then looked back at his unconscious teammate as he pulled out a clotting bandage. His mind tried to take him back to six years ago, back to a cave in Afghanistan when he had tried to help one of his fellow Marines. The squad corpsman's instructions from where he sat tied up against the wall had barely saved the man...

"Y-yeah. I'm good." Chavez took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Look," the other medic prompted, his voice lowering. "_Look_ at me, Alonzo. I know it's your teammates, man, but we are _not_ gonna let 'em die, right? Gotta focus- get your head back in the game. We're gonna get these guys outta here, then we're gonna find everyone else and kick some zombie ass."

Chavez's gaze hardened as he looked back at the PJ. "I'm good. Nobody gets left behind."

"Now you're speakin' my language," Regis quipped, smirking. "Now, hand me the liquid stitches."

By the time they finished stabilizing Reagan, Hartwell had managed to locate and check the rest of the team. Three more agents had dug themselves out or woken up by that time, wincing as they moved. They were quickly set to the task of digging their teammates out and searching for an exit.

Haas, Echo's technician, was whispering quietly to her team leader as she tapped angrily at her tablet and shaking her head. From what Chavez could see, she was reaching for her earpiece every few moments and cursing. A soft comment from Hartwell kept the frustrated agent from throwing the offending device across the chamber. He activated his own earpiece, hearing nothing but eerie silence.

Another agent, Price, began recovering weapons; their pistols were collected and re-allocated to the currently mobile agents, and their rifles were moved to a leaning position in a neat row along one of the remaining walls while the agent checked their status.

The Minion leader's own M-4 had been crushed by the same stone that had injured his wrist; he had holstered his pistol and concentrated on locating his own medical kit, deferring to Hartwell's leadership in the meantime as the more tenured agent.

Romanoff had finally stood, dusted herself off, and claimed one of the recovered pistols. She examined the wall of debris, trying to find a hole or crevice large enough to fit through. Seeing that the rest of the team was being attended to, the assassin focused on finding a way back to her wayward partner.

* * *

Clint groaned, reaching up to feel his forehead. Opening his eyes, he found himself in pitch darkness. A loud shuffling to his left told him he wasn't alone. Reaching around, he finally located his M-4. The archer ran his hands over the weapon, cursing softly as he found a severe twist in the barrel.

The weapon was useless.

Sighing, he felt along the top of the rifle for his scope. No sense leaving it behind if it was still salvageable; good scopes were hard as hell to replace, and he hoped he wouldn't have to re-calibrate this one too much. He rarely had to use a scope, but there were times when the situation called for night vision or distances that made the shot difficult for even his excellent eyesight.

Besides, there was some sentimental value to the device; R & D had developed it for him, and it had survived multiple missions without a scratch. After a minute of tinkering, he managed to remove the scope, slipping it into his belt until he could locate his bag.

Repeating the process with the flashlight mounted on the underside of the rifle, he switched the light on, shining it around him to try to regain his bearings. Flinching as he heard a muffled gunshot through the wall, he quickly recovered and focused on checking his surroundings.

"Command, this is Hawkeye. Can anyone read me?" Clint asked softly, activating his earpiece. There was no response. He frowned. "Phoenix? Aw hell… are you there, Stark?"

Muttering obscenities to himself, he looked around again. The room was pitch black, though he thought he could see a pair of soft glows in the distance, most likely from some of the team's glow-sticks. Feeling along his pockets, he tried to take stock of his remaining resources. Sweeping occasionally with his flashlight, he finally found himself in front of a lab door.

_SPECIAL PROJECTS LAB 1_

The door to the lab had already been smashed in, leaving the room open. Feeling along the wall, he located the light switch and flipped it up. There was a quiet _whirr_, followed by a small arc along the ceiling. A dull red light finally flickered on, no doubt from a backup generator.

"Finally," he muttered, leaning against an empty lab bench. He reached down, feeling his pockets. As he reached to one of the pouches on his belt, he found a small, rectangular canvas pouch that he hadn't noticed before.

_Damn Stark robots,_ Clint thought. The drone must have clipped it to his belt somehow as they were moving around the facility. Knowing Stark, it was an attempt at a practical joke, or a challenge to see if he could get one over on the SHIELD assassin.

Opening the pouch as he glanced back at the door to spot any lurking hostiles, he pulled out a small object. Looking down, he found a set of what looked like safety glasses in his hand. Tilting his head curiously, he opened the arms of the glasses, setting them on his face.

A small arrow icon blinked on the inside of the left lens, pointing at the upper left corner. He turned the device over, finding a button hidden in the hinge. Smiling, the archer pressed it and set the glasses on the bridge of his nose in time to see a small video file playing on the lens.

"_If you're seeing this, Clint, then you've gotten my little present,"_ Stark said, grinning widely. The background of the room appeared to be a posh lounge, possibly from the inventor's villa. _"_I _figured that since_ _you rely on your eyes so much_, _you_ _should have_ _some fun with them_._ These babies here are the latest in Stark vidscreen and scanner technology, designed as a supplemental eye protection and communication device. In the event you lose your earpiece, this one's got a small transceiver built in, which can get you back in the game real quick."_

Stark was turning over another set of glasses as he demonstrated the features. _"I don't have much time to go over this before you leave, Legolas, but pressing this control right here will cycle through night vision, infra-red, and scout drone remote viewing. I'll go into it more with you when you get back, but for now I figure you could use a backup if you break your normal gear. We've got a Wifi connection to Scurvy's camera, so hopefully it'll come in handy in case of emergencies."_

"Nice," Clint muttered, pressing a small button on the right hinge of the glasses. The lenses shifted, showing him the room in the usual greenish-grey that appeared with night vision goggles.

"_Clint,"_ Stark was saying, _"I'm sorry I can't be there with you guys, but hey- be careful, and good luck. Oh, and don't get eaten by zombies."_

He was startled when a metallic object skittered over to him.

"Jesus!" he cried, throwing himself back until he finally recognized the Tony-bot. "You just don't _do_ that in creepy zombie-filled basements, damn it!"

"_Me apologies, matey. Me creator seems ta have lost his connection. I be re-establishin' an uplink once the controls reboot,"_ it replied, almost wilting in shame. _"How may I be of service to yeh?"_

"Can you try to find everyone else?" Clint asked, frowning as he felt for his sidearm. "Damn."

"_Thar be multiple lifeforms registering on infra-red scanners,"_ the drone reported, scrabbling along the rubble wall. _"Thar also be a six-foot thick wall standin' between us and the rest of yer party, matey."_

"Of course there is," Barton deadpanned. He tapped his earpiece, receiving nothing in acknowledgement. "Any word on communications?"

There was a short period of silence from the small bot, followed by a short squeal. _"Is that better? Hawkeye, Romanoff… anyone alive down there?"_

"Oh, thank God," Hawkeye said, picking up the small bot. "Stark, we've got a mess down here."

"_That you, Hawkeye? Nice! One down, a bunch more to go. Everybody sound off." _Several moments passed before Stark's voice returned. _"Damn it, there's no response on the other channels. Jarvis is trying a couple tricks, so hopefully we'll have someone else join the party soon."_

"I… wouldn't call this a party." The archer breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the billionaire's voice. He put the drone back on the ground, watching it lift itself up again. It skittered around the area, its scanners circling rapidly.

"_Hawkeye, Echo One, this is Command,"_ Coulson's voice finally sounded off. _"We've got temporary communication back up here, so we'll need to make it quick. What's your twenty?"_

"I think we're in grid seven of Sub-level One," the archer reported, using a sign posted on a stanchion for reference.

"_We're not getting a response from Echo or Mike, Hawkeye. Are they with you?"_

"No. Just me and the drone, from the look of things. Shit," Clint swore, looking around again. "Oh, found your little surprise, by the way, Stark."

"_Neat! How are they working out so far? If you've got communication with the drone, we can try to get a satellite link."_

"_Already done,"_ Coulson replied. _"Colonel Rhodes is here, so we're bouncing communications off of his satcom gear and relaying the information to the carrier. Once comms are stable, we can begin digging you out."_

"Well, that's good news, right?" the archer asked quietly, halting as he felt a slight tugging on his pant leg. "Hey, Stark- you do realize Google's making something like these glasses, right?" A slight tugging on his pant leg made him look down. "What the… "

His eyebrows perked up in surprise as he noticed Scurvy at his feet, holding up the P30 pistol.

"Thanks. Useful little guy, aren't you?" Clint took the offered handgun, ejecting the clip and sliding it back in after checking for any damage while Stark muttered obscenities. The drone seemed to perk up at the compliment. "Stark, I think I'm stealing your robot after this. At least until my dog tries to eat it."

"_How could you compare those social networking monstrosities to _my_ inventions? Mine are _so_ much more functional, secure, and not to mention they look a hell of a lot better- "_

"_Mr. Stark," _Coulson chided. _"Can we please focus on the current problem?"_

"_Look, Bird-brain - these babies are _so_ much better than Google could ever dream of, just you wait! And we'll talk about the bot- I still owe you how many decades worth of late birthday presents?"_ Clint rolled his eyes at the inventor's rambling. _"I've got connection. Alright, Hawkeye- anything you can see, we'll see too."_

"I think I see one of our guys over, about 10 yards out," the archer reported, making his way towards a shifting figure. He held his pistol up in preparation.

Luckily, it appeared to be one of the Twins. Clint lowered the pistol slightly before kneeling down to help the younger man up. The Twin appeared to be undamaged, though he leaned slightly on his right leg. He looked up at Clint, squinting.

"Can't see you, Boss," the Twin replied, lowering his voice as they heard more shifting and scrabbling in the background. The drone tugged at his sleeve and placed his re-breather mask in his hands; he quickly donned the device, blinking as he spotted the small drone. "Thanks, little pirate minion."

"Found one of our missing agents," Clint reported as the Twin dusted himself off. "Tell Sanders he can stop freaking out. His brother's in one piece, I think."

"_Copy that, Hawkeye," _Coulson's voice replied over the earpiece. _"We'll tell him once we re-establish communications. Agent Peterson took a look at the video you provided when you first entered the sub-level. Between the steel building materials and the mineral composition, it's most likely blocking the signal. The only reason we're getting through to you is that damn drone, I suspect."_

"The wonders of modern technology," Clint said with a snort of amusement, imagining Stark wearing what was probably a smug grin. Next to him, Sanders tapped his ear. The Twin's earpiece had most likely been damaged, as he wasn't able to rejoin the comm channel.

Hawkeye used the lowest setting on his flashlight to adjust his eyewear now that the Twin had restored his night-vision; he didn't want to blind either of them. After a quick setting change, he began hearing the comm channel through the transceiver in the glasses.

Clint handed his own earpiece over to the Twin after wiping it off, who took it with a puzzled look. "Oh, don't give me that. Beggars can't be choosers. Command, transferring my earpiece to Mike Five- his was damaged. It looks like Stark's little present's working so far."

"_Acknowledged."_

Waving the Twin forward, the odd trio made their way further into the sub-levels. Now that the entrance was blocked, their only way out was the supposed dock at the fourth sub-level. The large chamber was growing more frigid; it was hard to say what time it was since they couldn't see the sky, but night had to be coming soon, if not already there. The lack of power also meant the heating system was down, and Hawkeye didn't feel like dealing with sub-zero temperatures if he didn't have to.

"Boss," the Twin began, his grip tightening on his recovered M4.

Hawkeye turned around, focusing on the younger man. _Ted_, his mind supplied. "Yeah?"

Sanders fidgeted nervously. "When we get outta here, uh, me an' my brother… we kinda need to talk to ya about something. It's sorta personal-"

There was a creak as something large shifted in the rubble, interrupting the Twin. With a larger groan, several girders clanged as the oversized figure threw them to the ground. There were several growls from smaller shadows as they uncovered themselves. Clint aimed the light towards the shadows, finding himself staring at several pairs of red eyes.

The archer scowled. He really hated feeling like fate's bitch sometimes. "Aww, _fuck_."

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech surface level…_

If Coulson didn't know any better, he would say the facility had had a run-in with one of the Leviathans, as R&D had named the over-sized flying creatures from the Chitauri invasion. Everyone else just called them what most people felt they looked like: giant space whales. The damage was comparable to one fo the monstrous creatures dragging a fin alongside the building, weakening the supports until it collapsed inwards or on its side. Taking in the scene, Coulson's heart nearly skipped a beat as he wondered about the fate of the extraction team.

The building had collapsed inward on the right-hand side, leaving the left side standing, with several large support struts showing through the floor. If there were any survivors, they appeared to be buried in the rubble. One of the perimeter teams was crawling over the rubble, looking for an access point down into the sub-levels while the other team stood watch.

Coulson surveyed the building, comparing the floor plan from his tablet to the current building. He frowned. With half of the building caved in, they would be spending hours digging their agents out, provided they didn't suffocate or freeze first.

"It's impossible," one of the agents commented crossly. "We're never gonna get to them now!"

"_Don't_ tell me it's impossible," Coulson snapped, his gaze falling on the agent. "Those are SHIELD operatives trapped down there. They wouldn't give up on any of us if we were in their place, and we will _not_ give up on them because of a pile of steel and rocks."

The agents scurried away, looking chastened. The Colonel arched an eyebrow. "Nice pep talk."

Coulson merely snorted in reply. "They need to have a little more faith in their fellow agents."

The veteran agent sighed softly, his thoughts turning to the trapped team. He had no doubt that Romanoff would make it out; the woman was a survivor, and after escaping the Red Room, there was likely little that could bring the Black Widow down. They had already made contact with Hawkeye, at least; the archer was one of the hardest men to take down that Coulson knew. Barring unnatural circumstances, of course.

He was concerned about Sitwell, however. The medics' report on his injuries had been worrisome, and the added complication of the building collapse was more likely to worsen his condition. Jasper was one of his oldest protégés and friends, as well as one of the few to treat him like a normal person. After surviving Loki's spear, the rumors that he was a robot, Life Model Decoy, or some other sort of unnatural being had only multiplied in number and variety.

"Either way, that doesn't look good," Rhodes commented, pressing several buttons on his forearm and catching Coulson's attention again. "Let me see how stable it is before we go in any further. We're gonna need an entry right about here…"

The SHIELD agents took cover as Colonel Rhodes aimed a repulsor at one of the piles of debris covering the entrance to the sub-levels. Once some of the larger pieces had been blasted out of the way, two agents darted forward to investigate the area. Rhodes stood ready, scanning the area for any signs of life.

"Agent Coulson," the Colonel called. "We've got life signs here. They're buried pretty deep."

The senior field agent grimaced, pulling up a walkie-talkie. "Martez, how is it looking with the heavy equipment?"

"_We're looking at another hour before we can get them moving, sir,"_ Agent Martez responded. _"We've rounded up all the agents with heavy equipment experience, but some of the machines needs fuel."_

"Try to speed things up. We've got people trapped down there."

"_Acknowledged, sir. I'll get the boys to step it up."_

"What about me and Blondie?" Rhodes asked, turning to face him. His visor was up, exposing a tense but calm face. "We can get started on the heavy lifting. If my sensors are correct, we're starting to get into sub-zero temps. There's gonna be nobody to rescue if they freeze to death."

Coulson sighed, looking back towards the large lights that had been airlifted from the Helicarrier, along with relief supplies. He turned back to the officer. "It's going to take some time to dig them out. Time, and manpower, which we have to spend to secure the town from any stragglers from the labs."

As if to emphasize his point, there was a quick pair of gunshots along with calls of alarm from the perimeter team as they struck down another escaped lab animal.

"_Base Command, you take care of digging our people out,"_ Fury commanded, his voice sounding resigned over the comms. _"We've got backup incoming. They'll take care of sweeping the area."_

Coulson and Rhodes looked at each other. The Colonel shrugged. "Hey, man- I just got my orders from the Pentagon and headed on up here. If they sent me, it makes sense that they'd send support behind me to clean up. They're just a little slower."

The sound of helicopters rose in volume. They looked out of the large hole in the wall that they had used to enter the building. Three aircraft hovered over the parking lot; one dropped a small set of ropes as the others peeled off and flew towards the town.

"Director," Coulson said, watching the soldiers rappel down into the area. "This is supposed to be a SHIELD operation. Why is the Army here?"

"_The Council talked to the Pentagon, the Pentagon sent Rhodes and told SOCOM, and now the military is stepping in. They're considering this an act of domestic terrorism,"_ Fury explained. _"Be nice to 'em, Coulson. They're just here to help."_

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Coulson replied firmly. "The military is technically outside of our chain of command. I'd rather not have to get into a jurisdictional pissing contest. "

"_The Council says otherwise," _the Director asked dryly._ "They're to report to Colonel Rhodes. I trust you two can play nice?" _

"I think we'll be just fine," Coulson replied, both men rolling their eyes.

"Didn't mean to get you in trouble with your boss," Rhodes commented with a wry grin several minutes later as they watched the approaching Delta squad. "This won't cause any problems with your agents, I hope?"

"Oh," the SHIELD agent replied sourly, raising his walkie-talkie. "It's not them I'm worried about. Excuse me, Colonel - I need to warn Dr. Banner about our new visitors."

As soon as he began to key up the radio, they heard the muffled report of gunshots, followed by another _whump_ as the ground shook. The soldiers paused, taking a defensive position before continuing their approach. The other SHIELD agents looked at each other with concern.

"You better call the Super-friends, _real_ quick," Rhodes commented, turning back towards the heavy debris. His faceplate snapped shut. "We may need them if that big ass zombie your people were talking about is still moving. That sounded like it came from underground."


	31. Chapter 31

Author's Note- Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb, and all the readers who have stayed with the story for so long. You guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Warning: This chapter contains zombies or zombie-like critters, and it may be a bit more graphic than previous chapters. If that's not really your cup of tea, you may want to skip ahead to a later chapter.

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech sub-level collapse…_

Hawkeye grimaced, aiming his pistol at the nearest set of red eyes. The P30 let out a _pop_ as the archer fired, hitting the zombie figure in the head. He moved from target to target, focusing on clean, efficient head-shots.

To his right, the Twin assisted with single shots from his M4 in an effort to conserve ammunition. As one of the bodies spasmed, he walked closer, dealing a clean head-shot to finish it. After the final creature had fallen, Hawkeye nodded to the Twin, signaling him to proceed further.

"Hawkeye to Command. Five tangos down," Clint reported. "Proceeding to the stairwell. No sign of the big one or any others yet."

"_Roger that, Hawkeye. Proceed with caution," _Coulson warned.

The SHIELD agents moved further, with Sanders watching the rear as well as he could. Clint scanned the area even more thoroughly than he had been; while it slowed down their progress, it was worth the delay if they could stop any potential ambushes. The hallways and catwalks appeared clear for the time being.

A hiss followed by a crash from behind had both agents turning around, snapping a shot off each out of reflex. They relaxed as they found nothing behind them, and turned around to return to their escape.

"_Easy now, hotshots,"_ Stark warned in a mirthful tone. _"You don't want to use up all of your ammo firing at the darkness."_

Clint mumbled a reply, ignoring the inventor's snickering. The drone crawled along, its sensors spinning as it tried to keep a lookout in their blind spots. He nearly grinned; once they made it out of this hellhole, he was recommending them to Fury. The damn thing was proving its worth today.

The cavern rocked as a throaty bellow sounded from deeper within its depths, confirming that the behemoth zombie was on the move.

Sanders appeared nervous; to Hawkeye's knowledge, the brothers hadn't been separated on a mission unless ordered by their team leader. Some of the junior agents joked about the pair having separation anxiety if separated more than ten feet, but he had worked with Team Mike enough times to know that it was yet another hyped up rumor.

The Twin took another step forward, but seemed to fall off balance. His arms flailed slightly as Hawkeye reached out to grab onto his vest, pulling him backwards. The archer steadied the younger agent and looked at the floor.

"Watch your step," Clint warned, gesturing at the open spot on the catwalk.

There was a large hole in front of the agent, the metal torn by a missing support strut. The jagged metal pieces surrounding the hole gaped at them like the maw of an over-sized beast, with no bottom in sight. Sanders gulped, stepping carefully to the side.

"S-sorry Boss - I swear I didn't see it there a second ago," the Twin said, gripping his weapon tightly. "I think this place is freakin' me out or something."

Hawkeye clapped a hand gently on his shoulder. "Just be careful."

They continued forward, finally locating the stairwell. The metal steps sat at the far side of the level, devoid of enemies. Looking over the railing of the sub-level platform, Hawkeye spotted no signs of the infected. Hopefully, it meant they were in the clear for the rest of the way towards the underground dock.

"_Clint,"_ a woman's voice seemed to whisper. _"I'm here."_

Narrowing his eyes, he continued on, trying to push the voice to the back of his mind. It wouldn't be the first time the wind or some other ventilation source had caused some strange sound effect, mimicking human speech. That didn't stop him from slowing down their pace to begin keeping a more careful watch, however.

"There're light's flickering ahead," the Twin said softly, his voice carrying a hopeful tone. "Think the power's about to come back on?"

Clint squinted, failing to see any sign of the lighting. "Where'd you see the flicker?"

"Over there." Ted pointed to the far corner and to the left of the stairwell's upper landing. "There it is again!"

"Sanders," Clint began cautiously, "I… don't see anything. How about you, Stark? Any word from Jarvis on power?"

"_Not yet,"_ Stark replied. _"We're still working on it. You may be seeing flickers from a generator or from a loose power cable, but that's the most you're going to get. I'm not seeing anything on video playback, either."_

"Damn," the archer muttered.

Another whisper drifted past, this time of a child's voice. _"Daddy?"_

"You hear that?" Clint asked, turning to Sanders. The other agent nodded, his eyes wide. "Command- did you get that last bit of audio? We're hearing voices. You're sure all the kids have been evacced?"

"_We've accounted for all of the civilians, Hawkeye. If there's a kid down there, he or she wasn't on the roster. Could be a test subject, so be careful,"_ Coulson warned.

Clint nearly huffed. "Don't have to tell us twice, Command."

The archer turned after checking another corridor, just in time to pull his companion out of the way of a jagged piece of pipe. The metal shard was jutting out of a large piece of debris from the floor above, directly in their path. There was no way the younger agent should have missed it.

He turned the agent towards the piece of pipe. "Dude. What...the...hell? Your eyes are okay, right?"

"Yes sir," Sanders nodded shakily. "S-sir, I swear on my daddy's flatulent chili, that stuff wasn't there a second ago."

"You're sure?" Clint asked, his eyes filling with concern. He held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"

"Three," the Twin answered readily. "Boss, I'm tellin' ya, there's somethin' funky goin' on."

"Yeah… I think you're right. You were just about to be a Twin-kabob."

"_I'm - ah -"_ Stark commented, his voice tinged with wariness, _"I'm just gonna tell Jarvis to speed up the cracking algorithm on the power controls. Or what's left of them. Do you guys smell anything unusual, by the way?"_

They stared at each other as a new scent drifted on the air as the drone picked its way towards a higher point on the platform. A small probe popped out of a small hatch on top of the Tony-bot's body, swiveling in a small circle. The SHIELD agents both frowned.

"Are you thinking the air is bad?" Clint asked.

Stark hummed as the sound of keys tapping increased. _"Well, that would explain why you both are getting some strange sensory input. First, you're both hearing things, and now Twin Minion Number One or Two apparently _isn't_ seeing things."_

"Aww, you gave him a nickname. How sweet_,"_ the archer deadpanned.

The Twin grinned, his concern about the phantom images, or lack thereof, temporarily forgotten as he pulled his vest closer to the archer. "He gave me a pin, too!"

Pinned to his vest was a small circle, embossed with "VAIDC" in a raised, bold script.

"Somehow, I don't think I wanna know." Clint sighed as they turned to follow the drone, which had begun clattering towards the stairwell again.

"_That near miss counts as a reason for concern, in my book," _Stark continued several moments later_. "There's also the chance of spilled chemicals or vapors. There's no way of knowing what got tossed around in these labs when the upper level collapsed."_

They had progressed several more yards, watching for any ambushers. A skittering brought their progress to a halt. A sickly sweet smell began to permeate the air. It was familiar to Clint, whose mind immediately supplied memories of animals, a ringmaster's announcements, and the cheer of the audience.

"Cotton candy?" the Twin asked. "I'm smellin' cotton candy, an' somehow I don't think I'm supposed ta smell cotton candy, Boss. Cuz isn't it bad when you smell weird stuff where there's not supposed to be smells? Pa had a broke down radiator once, an' it smelled like-"

Hawkeye held up a hand, signaling the other agent to stop. His gaze turned around as the agent stopped his hurried ramblings. The archer couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He signaled again; Sanders nodded in acknowledgement and tightened his grip on his M4.

This wasn't like the last time. The last time he had faced down zombies, there had been no hide-and-seek games with disappearing and reappearing structures, no ghostly voices, no phantom smells. It had been very straightforward: run or the damn things ripped your face off or gouged out your eyes.

His hands began to tremble slightly as he remembered the howling of the infected soldiers. The red eyes gleaming as they gave chase; the slavering and screeching. The cries of his brother soldiers as their once friendly faces twisted into glares of rage and hatred, their hands scratching at his Kevlar vest…

"-eye, Boss!" Ted was calling, his hand darting back and forth as if trying to decide whether or not to touch him. "We gotta move, sir."

"_Hawkeye, report!"_ Coulson ordered.

Clint shook his head, trying to settle himself. "We're still green, Command."

"_I hate to de-rail whatever train of thought you were on there, Legolas," _Stark commented wryly, _"but I'm picking up a few more heat signatures within ten yards."_

No sooner had the inventor finished his sentence, a thick, fleshy hand darted out from the shadows, grabbing Clint's pistol. With a sharp yank, the weapon was pulled from the surprised SHIELD agent's hands. With a growl, the zombie squeezed, crumpling the steel firearm and tossing it to the ground.

The creature struck out with a clawed hand, forcing the archer to step backwards in an effort to dodge the blow and separating him from Sanders. Seconds later, a child's voice cried out, filled with fear, sending Clint's protective instincts into overdrive. He looked around, trying to find the source as another hand wrapped around his ankle from behind, pulling his feet out from under him.

Sanders opened fire on the first of the infected, aiming for center mass. The creature screeched, jerking as each round hit it. Rolling from side to side in a failed effort to avoid the shots, it finally stumbled and fell to the ground.

Clint felt himself slide backwards, his hands scrabbling for a handhold as he was dragged into the shadows. He could hear Sanders' voice yelling in the background as he was charged by another infected. Hawkeye reached behind his back, his hands resting on his favorite dagger. His hand was wrested loose as he was suddenly hurled into the air and into the cavern wall.

"Oomph!" Hawkeye grunted as he slid downward, slightly stunned. He cursed inwardly as his neck and back protested the movement as he was yanked again by his feet. "Aww sh-"

"_Hawkeye, to your left!" _

"A little help here, Stark!" Clint called. Reaching for his knife, he pulled it from its sheath. As he was hurled again, he reached out, catching the zombie's wrist with one hand and bringing the blade down. The creature shrieked in outrage.

"_Damn! My connection is dropping,"_ Stark commented, his voice tight with concern. _"Hang on - I'm trying to reboot the remote."_

Hawkeye rolled to his feet, looking around for the creature. A scrabbling sound to his right caught his attention, causing him to turn. To his surprise, the attack came from the rear; with a snarl, the monstrosity crashed into his upper back. Thankfully, the archer had had plenty of practice grappling with larger, stronger opponents. With a deft twist, he grappled the creature, flipping it over his back to land solidly on the ground. As it tried to scratch at his face, Clint brought the knife down, piercing the zombie in its eye. It shuddered and finally stilled.

Clint looked up as he heard another growl. Another monstrosity charged him from the hallway, having found him an easier target than Sanders. He prepared to meet the zombie when a loud _zzort_ filled the area, followed by the smell of charred flesh and ozone.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise as the zombie fell, revealing the Tony-bot. It crawled to the side, turning to watch it as it landed. A taser-like attachment sparked as it crawled closer.

"_That'll teach ya, yeh bilge rat!"_ the drone's accented voice cried. It turned back to face the archer as Sanders ran up to join them raising its graspers in victory. _"Yarr!"_

The Twin glanced back and forth between drone and corpse. He whistled appreciatively. "Damn… nice work, little pirate minion!"

Wiping his blade clean, Clint returned it to its sheath. Groaning as he stretched a kink out of his shoulder, the archer turned to where Sanders and the drone waited. Activating his comm, he coughed to clear his throat before reporting in. "Stark? Your robot just tased a zombie. As in, _permanently_ tased it."

"_Is that what its doing? I'm checking the command sequence logs,"_ the inventor commented.

While Stark focused on checking his logs, Clint walked over to retrieve the remains of his pistol, sighing as he examined it. "Aww… that was my favorite one."

"_Uh… you're not going to believe this." _

"What, Stark?" Clint asked, suddenly concerned.

"_That drop in remote control that I had? Well, that was Scurvy re-routing the control mode," _the inventor explained_. "What the hell? How'd he...that shouldn't have happened!"_

Clint couldn't help but chuckle. "I thought you designed your bots to have minds of their own."

"_I _did_,"_ Stark commented before he softly cursed._ "However, I did _not_ design it with an auto-control switch. Little guy took control and switched Remote Command to Autonomous Local Command on his own. That wasn't supposed to be possible. Bad Scurvy!"_

"Well, he sure saved my ass," the archer said, chuckling softly.

"_Still- his AI wasn't designed to _do_ that!"_ Stark insisted firmly. _"Maybe Scurvy's got a crush on you or something, hot stuff."_

"I _really_ hope you're joking, Shell Head."

Coulson cleared his voice. _"I assume the situation has been handled, gentlemen?"_

"Three," Clint replied, pausing as Sanders shook his head and mouthed '_four_' to him. "Make that four tangos down. These things are working in groups now, Command. And not just in 'let's all swarm them in typical zombie fashion,' sir."

"Smart zombies," Sanders added. "These are workin' in packs, sir. Like some sorta wolf things."

"_If there's something controlling them, maybe, that could explain why the wildlife and livestock are attacking our checkpoints,"_ Coulson commented stoically. _"All the other reports from the previous incident never showed this level of coordination. Mr. Stark, were you able to get any information from the air quality test?"_

"_They all came back negative,"_ Stark replied. The drone, being a prototype for the Mars project, had been fitted with multiple environmental sensors that were currently proving useful. _"Oxygen and carbon monoxide levels are normal, no signs of gas or other assorted contaminants. Whatever's affecting you two isn't coming from the air."_

Another scent drifted in, filling the air with a faint, perfumed aroma. Clint frowned. The scent was familiar, but he wasn't sure where he had encountered it before. It smelled of jasmine intermingled with rose; the archer found himself relaxing out of habit.

"I'm smellin' somethin' again, Command," Sanders reported. He raised his weapons as they turned around trying to catch sight of the source. "Better than rotten zombies, I guess."

"_Can you describe it?"_ Coulson asked.

Clint took a deeper whiff. "Flowers. Something floral. It's familiar, but I can't place it."

"_Did someone spill Romanoff's perfume collection maybe?"_ Stark added with a snicker.

"Perfume…" Hawkeye froze, his mind suddenly placing the scent. Rose and jasmine- his wife's favorite mix of scents. He had had the perfume specially made for her birthday. The archer began to jog further down the hallway, back towards where he had heard the whispers. "Laura. _Laura!_"

"_Hawkeye, what are you doing?" _

"Where ya goin', Boss?" the Twin asked, surprised at the sudden movement. "And who's Laura?"

"I hear her, Phoenix." Clint looked back at Sanders, stricken, and turned around to run towards the source of the sound. "Can't you guys hear her? It's _Laura_."

"_Hawkeye,"_ Coulson said, his voice firm. _"You and I both know it can't be her. Please, Hawkeye, focus."_

"But she's here, sir - we both hear her! She's gotta be here somewhere."

"_Um, no…"_ Stark piloted the drone, picking up speed as he tried to catch up to the agent. _"Hawkeye? Legolas - there's nothing on audio. This is another phantom sound, or EVP - whatever! Damn it Clint - stop!"_

Hawkeye could hear her calling as another tremor rocked the cave. _"Clint - please! We need you!"_

Sidestepping the drone, he turned to the right, heading back the way they had come. Frantically searching, he cursed as he failed to find any sign of her.

"_Daddy! Over here! It's gonna get us,"_ a girl's voice called. _"Help us!"_

"It's _her_, Coulson. It's her…I just heard Nicole. Oh God - they're all here. How the hell…?" Clint stammered, continuing his search. "They're hiding somewhere. I don't know how, but I _hear_ them, sir."

"Sir? I see somethin' over there," Sanders reported, pointing at the lower sub-level. There was a flicker of movement, as if something was running. "We should be able to drop down from this point here. We can catch 'em!"

"_Stop! Wait up,"_ Stark called. _"Hawkeye! Damn it, don't make me tase you!"_

Grabbing onto the railing, the agents climbed over, dropping down to the lower sub-level platform and landing in a crouch. They stood up and began following the retreating shape. It dashed amongst the rubble piles, constantly escaping their view.

Clint focused on spotting the figure, calling out to it. "Laura? Nicole? Callum!"

Sanders slowed, watching a hunched over figure in the corner of another alcove. It remained still, quivering in fear. The younger agent paused, looking from the person in the corner and back at Hawkeye. His head tilted to the side as he listened to his earpiece.

"Lewis?" Clint called softly, halting his approach as it shuddered.

There was an audible _click _as another voice came onto the channel. _"Hawk, its Nick. Stand down."_

"I can't, sir. It could be one of -"

"_Clint, listen to me. Focus on my voice,"_ Fury interrupted. "_Stand down. That's an order. It's not her."_

"You don't know that, Nick," the archer replied, his voice choking up. "I would know her voice anywhere. What if… what if they survived? They could have, somehow. What if it was all a trick? Remember Barney?"

"_Listen, Clint. It's been six years. Do the kids sound like they're six years older? They're gone, Clint,"_ the Director countered softly. _"I know you wanna believe in miracles. We both do, but…I identified them myself. I'm sorry, Clint, but they're not coming back. They can't come back, no matter how much we want them to."_

"But I'm hearing her voice. It's sounds so _real_…" His voice caught in his throat as he took another step forward. The figure in the corner reached out to him, finally looking up at him. His gaze hardened.

The figure was a woman. Long, dark matted hair fell over her shoulders, surrounding a long, narrow face. Her head was bowed, and she held her trembling hands out in front of her. Laura's perfume permeated the air, replacing the stench of old blood and filth that covered the woman.

It wasn't her. It wasn't his Laura. Just… an imposter, speaking with her voice and stealing her scent. He nearly growled in rage. The other three clustered around her, mimicking children clutching at their mother's shirt. More imposters.

How dare they? How _dare_ they pretend to be his family? To give him _hope_?

"I gotcha covered, sir," Sanders commented quietly, seeing his grim expression.

"_Hawkeye, you don't know what you're doing!"_ Stark called frantically. The drone was scrambling towards them, finally catching up to the agents. _"Don't get any closer, Clint! It's a-"_

"Just… shut up, Stark." Hawkeye walked forward towards the figure in the lead as three more moved closer. He ignored the screeches over the comm, ordering him back. "Sanders? What do you see?"

"I'm seeing a scared lady an' her kids, callin' for ya, Boss," the Twin replied, watching the group of four nervously. "I… think that's what I see. But common sense and my Pa's wisdom tell me it's too good to be true. Hate to say it, but they'd be dead if they was real."

"Yeah," Clint commented in response, continuing his approach. "I thought so too."

As she reached up to embrace him, his hand changed direction, reaching for the hilt of the short sword strapped to his back. With a move faster than the others suspected from one specializing in ranged combat, he drew the blade from the scabbard and slashed sideways in one fluid strike. The woman's head toppled from her body as Sanders cried out, his voice full of horror.

With a low growl of his own, the archer struck, moving from figure to figure, slashing and stabbing. As soon as he finished the last thrust into the mid-section of one of the three, it fell to the ground, gurgling. He withdrew the blade, flicking it to the side to try to clear off some of the black, ichorous blood.

"What the hell, Boss? You just… you just…" The Twin fell silent as he reached Hawkeye's position, looking down at the bodies as the archer tore off a piece of cleaner looking cloth from one of the bodies in order to wipe off the blade. Ted found himself staring at a zombie head. _"Oh."_

Hawkeye didn't answer. He looked up, finally, his grip tightening on his blade as he looked back at the Twin, his eyes cold. Ted shivered; he hadn't seen eyes that empty since they had worked together back in the Tomb. The older man's eyes weren't marbled blue, but they were just as lifeless as they had been that time.

"It wasn't her, Nick," the archer muttered softly. "It wasn't her. Wasn't _them_. An illusion maybe?"

"_Wait- you're telling me these things can project illusions on top of the smells and sounds?"_ Stark squawked indignantly. _"Those dirty, rotten cheating bastards!"_

"Maybe," Barton replied. He twirled his sword in a practiced maneuver, trying to acclimate himself to the weight and balance and looked down at the head. The creature's cranium appeared larger than normal, with bulging veins spreading from the temples. "Since we can't be sure which one did it, I'm gonna take each and every one of these things apart. Just to be on the safe side."

Ted fell into step besides Hawkeye as the archer strode forward, a dark expression on his face.

"_What the hell? He uses a sword. A _sword,_"_ Stark asked, the drone backing up out of reflex after watching him pass by. _"Did you see that, Twin Minion? He's…he's supposed to be Robin Hood, not Errol Flynn!"_

"Uh, Command?"Ted asked nervously, unsure of what to do as the other agent strode away, blade in hand_. _"He's uh…he's pissed. I dunno whether ta follow him or keep goin' fer the dock. Orders?"

"_Follow him, but give him his space."_ There were muffled curses and several swear words that even Ted hadn't heard of as Coulson's voice came back on the line. _"Stark, Mike Five, whatever you do, just stay out of his way. It'll be safer."_

* * *

_SHIELD Helicarrier Bridge…_

"_Stark, Mike Five, whatever you do, just stay out of his way. It'll be safer," _Coulson was ordering.

Fury cursed as he listened to the comm traffic. Leave it to the mad scientists to find the best way to combine viral mutations with psychic warfare. Too bad for them; their little monstrous creations picked the wrong agent to try to pull off an illusion with.

He pulled out a worn photograph from a pocket hidden in the lining of his coat. Three children smiled back at the photographer, waving in delight. The boys took after their father greatly, while the youngest, a girl, sported her mother's hair.

All three of his god-children had had Clint's eyes, and like their father, had shown remarkable insight despite their age. Like their father, they saw better from a distance. It was a shame, really; they had been so innocent, and taken from the world far too young.

Nick Fury had no offspring of his own, and had treasured his time with the Barton children. Visits to the house had been a source of relaxation for the spymaster; he could shed the mantle of SHIELD Director and be just plain ol' "Uncle Nick."

"Hill, get a transport ready. I'm going down to the island," the Director ordered, tucking the picture away after one last, soft look.

"Sir," she answered, giving him a wary look. "That isn't a good idea."

"I don't give a damn," he growled, ignoring the startled looks of the surrounding agents as he turned to leave. "The situation down there is starting to need my personal attention."

Hill merely nodded, knowing that he wasn't going to budge on this one. She had heard the comm traffic too, and had seen the aftermath of the last time Barton flew off the handle. The archer didn't mess around when it came to his family.

Using Laura and the children as a basis for an illusion and then targeting _Barton_ had been a mistake on the illusionist's part, in Fury's opinion. There was no way they could have known that the experimental nerve gas that Barton had been exposed to during the first incident had caused enough damage to his vision that he now saw mostly black and white, with some other shades as well. As a result, he saw things differently than most people in more ways than just color.

The Director had seen it first hand when the archer – an inmate on Death Row at the time – had managed to flick a fountain pen through the observation glass, directly in front of where Fury had been standing. Every time Barton's eyes flickered over to the mirror and back at the pencil-pusher the spymaster had sent in had left Fury with the feeling that the other man could see right through him.

Due to the changes in his vision, certain illusions and projections just didn't show up on the limited range of colors that Barton could see, and once R&D found out, they had pestered Barton ever since for assistance with various projects. The archer's odd vision had been a source of entertainment for the Director as he was forced to occasionally play referee in the everlasting Barton vs. SHIELD R&D conflict.

With a whirl of his leather coat, he strode toward the launch bay and to the waiting transport. There was no telling what his old friend was going to do now that he had been pushed too far.

The Director frowned as he boarded the Quinjet; he had known it wasn't the best idea to send Barton in, but they had needed someone who knew how the monsters thought, and had enough experience to keep the upper hand. They were going to need a lot of damage control this time.

Fury desperately hoped that by the end of this mission, there would be enough pieces left of Barton's sanity to pick up again. Barton had finally been getting over the latest in a long list of tragedies that plagued the man's life. From a shitty childhood being terrorized by an abusive drunk of a father to his falling out with his brother, to the initial Project Red incident and the murder of his family, Barton seemed to have some sort of entropic being seeking to tear the archer's life apart.

Fury wasn't sure if Barton had pissed someone off tremendously in a previous life, or if the guy was just that unlucky.


	32. Chapter 32

Author's Note-Sorry for the late chapter, but Gencon sort of got in the way...

Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb, and all the readers who have stayed with the story for so long. You guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's.

Warning: This chapter contains zombies or zombie-like critters, and it may be a bit more graphic than previous chapters. This is not the happiest of chapters- definitely not the happiest as we bring the zombie story arc to a close. If that's not really your cup of tea, you may want to skip ahead to a later chapter.

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech Sub-Levels… eight hours into the operation…_

Fury remained a constant presence in his ear, having secured the channel so it was just the two of them. The Director kept him informed on the status of the surface teams, occasionally adding in a quip or a memory from missions in the past. Clint could honestly say the other man's voice was most likely the main thing keeping him sane.

During the first Project Red incident, he had started with the standard HQ chatter, and even those communications were sporadic. Once the Command Center had been overrun, there had been no others to talk to- they were all killed, or turned. Eventually, it was just down to Clint and Flynn- a pilot he had befriended at the beginning of the mission.

Not that Sanders' presence was any less comforting now, twenty years later. The younger agent was quieter than usual, trying not to attract any hostile attention as Hawkeye strode through the cavern. Clint didn't care if they attacked him, as long as they left the kid alone. Sanders was holding his own though; keeping a lookout, providing support, and generally staying out of Clint's way. He had relaxed upon hearing that his brother had been recovered, though, so at least one concern was out of the way.

He still had his other worries, and they were centered on the fiery redhead he'd come to rescue. Knowing Nat, it wouldn't take her long to find an escape route for herself and the rest of the team, based on Fury's updates of the rescue efforts up topside. He half-expected her to call dibs on the whirlpool tubs in the Physical Therapy Unit after being medevacced. More likely, however, she would wait for him to make his way back to the surface, stubbornly refusing to leave until the entire team was safe and/or accounted for. Stubborn woman.

Watching another larger blob step out of an area that had been blocked from view previously, he swore inwardly. It was the "juggernaut" zombie. It flailed its fists against the cavern wall, creating another tremor as it looked upwards, a frustrated frown on its face.

Clint had seen the Hulk throwing tantrums before, and this was no different. It was scanning the cavern walls, peering upwards and roaring in frustration as the rocks refused to give way. Other, smaller figures scattered nearby, dodging the occasional boulder as they were tossed to the side haphazardly.

It was looking for a way out.

"Found Big 'n Ugly," Clint commented quietly. "Sir, it's looking for an exit."

"_Acknowledged, Hawkeye. Can you get around it?"_

"Not really. It's got friends. Looks like the only way out's through a side door. Either it's locked with a kick-ass deadbolt, or the bastards haven't figured out it's there yet."

"_Don't do anything stupid, Clint. No need to get yourself killed - not when you'll drag one of the kids down with you,"_ Fury ordered. There was a sound like a gunshot, along with several panicked shouts.

"Not plannin' on it, sir," Clint replied, spotting more movement. The creature had turned, and was looking up in their direction. "Aw shit."

"_That was definitely _not _the response I was lookin' for, Barton."_

"Yeah? Well," the archer replied, his eyes widening. He signaled to Sanders as the creature began to move in their direction. "I uh… think we may have a problem."

* * *

_Harbinger Biotech, Surface Level…_

Coulson watched as the agents cleared a path for the backhoe, stepping out of the way in time to avoid a falling light fixture. Outside the building, Colonel Rhodes was speaking with the leader of the soldiers who had rappelled into the area, a stern-looking man in his forties wearing grey camouflage. The SHIELD agents had so far given little by way of comments, gracefully accepting the assistance of the Army as it allowed them to focus on the rescue operation.

The SHIELD men and women were clearing rubble out at a frenzied pace after the last set of tremors had subsided. It had taken an hour and the assistance of a Quinjet to shorten the trip up the hill for the heavy equipment, but they were now able to haul debris out of the way much faster than by hand. Standing by near the entrance was a trauma team, shuttled down from the Helicarrier in preparation for dealing with any critically wounded agents.

Fury himself had come down in the transport, and stood silently, watching the operation. The spymaster seemed content to let Coulson continue running the mission, and had largely stood to the side and allowed the agents to work. Every now and then, the Director spoke into his earpiece, most likely communicating with Barton.

The spymaster had encrypted the archer's channel, keeping their conversations private. As much as Coulson would prefer to monitor Hawkeye, he knew that the Director could handle Barton's side of the operation. It also allowed Coulson to keep a closer eye on the rest of the agents. Deep down, the senior agent knew there was also a chance that Fury was just trying to keep him occupied and off of the front lines.

Another shout rang out as some of the agents scattered. A wretched, humanoid figure began crawling out of the debris, swiping at the nearest human being. Fury drew his sidearm and fired off to his right, dropping the zombie with a single shot to the forehead. Coulson shook his head; the action hadn't even interrupted his conversation with Barton.

The body was moved to a separate area for processing disposal by another team dressed in HAZMAT gear, also brought on the Quinjet. Another small team of junior agents had the unwelcome job of identifying the infected human test subjects and Harbinger personnel, as the bodies were soon slated for incineration. They moved from body to body, one taking photographs while another took a DNA sample. The last agent assigned to the detail was taking what fingerprints could be collected, considering their deformities.

With time and SHIELD's advanced technology, their families could be properly notified of their demise.

"They're efficient, I'll give you that," Rhodes commented, returning to Coulson's side with the squad leader in tow. "Any word yet?"

Coulson shook his head. "We've been getting some pinging noises through the ventilation shafts that sounds like it could be Morse code, but it's getting distorted. At least it's a sign that someone's alive."

"Hard to believe anyone's still kickin' down there," the grizzled soldier commented with a shrug. "But you SHIELD boys tend to be tougher'n you look."

Coulson nodded, holding out a hand. "My name is Agent Coulson. Thank you for your assistance."

"Pleasure, sir." The soldier gripped the outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake.

"Delta, I take it?" the SHIELD agent asked, noticing the lack of insignias, rank, and name tags on the other man's uniform.

The soldier smiled in response. "Call me Hooch. You Army?"

Coulson nodded. "Rangers, once upon a time."

Hooch gave him a quick nod of approval, turning back towards his team. The man stepped a short distance away and held a finger up to his earpiece, speaking softly. Shortly afterwards, two of the squad took positions on top of the debris where they could get a clear shot at any hostiles.

"Have you heard from Barton?" Rhodes asked hesitantly. "You sounded worried the last time you spoke with him. From the sound of it, Tony's pretty spooked."

"Barton's a survivor," Coulson explained, letting out a long breath. "He's been through a lot, and all those experiences have given him a very dangerous skill set. Barton compartmentalizes very well, but even he has his limits, and he's just been pushed past them."

The officer was quiet for a few minutes, before turning back to Coulson. "You know, when I first heard about Tony's new roomies, I was a bit concerned for his safety. He's not an easy guy to get along with, y'know?"

Coulson merely smiled. "He and Barton both. Maybe that's what allows them to get along so well."

The Colonel let out a long breath. "Maybe. I mean, the guy's at the very _least_ Special Forces, or I'll eat my suit. Tony called him a 'super-spy assassin,' but we know he can sometimes exaggerate. If Barton's as volatile as your guys are saying right now, that can be dangerous. I've seen guys lose it before, and the results are rarely pretty for anyone."

"Yet…" Coulson led, sensing there was more to the pilot's statement. He made a mental note about having a word with the other agents about letting slip certain comments about their operatives. _Loose lips sink ships_, as the saying went.

"Yet… I've met the man, and he doesn't strike me as a psychopath. We were in flight school together a while back, and he was one of those quiet dudes that you left alone by instinct since they just radiate the 'don't screw with me' vibe. Intense, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. And, oddly enough, that gives me some comfort," Rhodes explained quietly. "I've only met a few people like that."

The SHIELD agent arched an eyebrow. "I see. Few people would be comforted knowing their friend lives with a high-level covert operative."

"From what I've seen, Tony and the Super-Friends are like some sort of weird, twisted little family unit. I… can't always be there to help him. If what I've heard from my own military source is correct, what comforts me is the knowledge that if anyone were stupid enough to hurt Tony or Pepper," Rhodes replied with a grim expression, jerking his head towards the wreckage where Barton had last been located, "that guy will do his best to make sure the assholes are _erased_."

Coulson couldn't disagree; erased was a good word for it. When Barton's family had been murdered, the first thing Clint had done once he'd escaped was to neutralize everyone in the facility where he had been held. After that, the archer had hunted down each and every one of the group responsible for the assassination.

It wasn't the first time he had done such a thing, and it likely wouldn't be the last. If they weren't able to talk Barton down, Senator Bradley's days as a living, breathing human being were numbered.

Fury was already taking steps to secure the Senator, having re-assigned Captain Rogers to head up the capture. The super-soldier was currently aboard a Coast Guard vessel, hunting down the ringleaders. It was only a matter of time before they resurfaced.

Hopefully, Barton would allow Fury to handle the brass this time. The archer was already on thin ice with the untrusting WSC board, and Coulson fretted about what would happen if Clint decided to deal with the perpetrators himself again. It took a criminal of the highest sort if they were dealing with this sort of bio-weapon, and the veteran agent didn't want to see a good man ruin his career again over scum like Bradley.

Coulson flexed his hands nervously; Fury had his work cut out for him to keep the Council from interfering too much.

There was another cry from the agents as the backhoe crew scattered, the machine dragging a large section of debris behind it. The chain _clinked _as it scraped over the smaller chunks of rubble, and they all winced at the shriek of distressed metal being hauled out of the way.

"Wait! Stop- I just worked out the message!" a frantic technician shouted, waving his hands at the digging crew as he ran up to Fury. The Director read the note, nodded and waved Coulson and Rhodey over.

Coulson's eyes widened as he read the message, and the agent turned his wrist to look at his watch. Noting the time, he held his radio up. "Clear the wreckage in Quadrant Six. Take cover at least thirty feet back."

"What's up?" Rhodes asked, watching the rescue crew move away from one of the rear sections of the building.

Coulson handed him the note. FIRE IN THE HOLE. Q6 GRID B. ENTRY DOORS. 2000 HRS.

The officer's gaze darted up to the area that had just been vacated. There was a loud _bbronngg_ that filled the air as a section of the floor began to glow orange. The area burst outwards, with small chunks of slag splattering around a large, melted hole.

"That sounds like them," Coulson commented, lifting his radio again. "Rescue team, move in to assist. Unless the infected have learned how to use heavy weaponry, that's most likely our missing extraction team."

A pair of agents on the rescue crew ran forward, stopping just short of the hole and peering in cautiously. One of the soldiers standing watch held his weapon at the ready in case of any surprises as Coulson and Rhodes moved forward to inspect the opening.

The soldier took a tentative step forward, lowering his weapon as the smoke cleared. He smiled. "Holy shit, Oyuki- I didn't expect to see your perverted ass caught in the middle of _Night of the Living Dead!_"

A cheer sounded from the rescue team as the agent shouted back. "Takes one to know one, man. You were sittin' right there with me!"

The now mixed group of SHIELD agents and Army soldiers laughed together at the banter as the medical crew rushed over, stretchers and medical kits ready. Another agent began uncurling a rope, tying one end to the backhoe before lowering the rest down to the stranded strike team.

Coulson watched from nearby as the Destroyer Gun was handed gently upwards through the hole in the floor, and handed to another agent while Oyuki climbed out, assisted by nearby personnel. He took the weapon back with a nod, trotting over to Coulson.

"We've got five people down, sir," the agent reported, shivering slightly. "It's damn cold down there. Reagan and Sitwell are pretty bad, and we've got some broken bones and concussions."

Coulson nodded towards the medical team, who were handing a backboard down through the opening. Thankfully, the edges of the hole had been melted, softening the sharper pieces. "We're on it, agent. When we've brought up all the critically wounded personnel, I want you to return with them to the Helicarrier to secure that weapon."

"You got it, sir," the younger man replied, giving him a quick two-fingered salute before returning to watch over the rescue effort.

The next person to be removed from the hole was Agent Reagan. The medics cursed at the sight, quickly connecting small, portable monitors to the wounded man before a pair of agents began to whisk him away to the waiting Quinjet. They returned to watching the opening after lowering another backboard.

Shortly afterward, Sitwell was lifted through the hole. The younger agent was unconscious; his pale face contrasted strongly with his dark suit and usually tan complexion. Coulson cursed inwardly as he moved closer to check his friend.

Sitwell was too pale, his face nearly white with shock, blood loss, and the cold. A thick wide piece of cloth was draped over the younger agent's midsection; Coulson recognized it as half of the cape that Hartwell had torn from Thor during the Mjolnir incident a year ago on the Helicarrier. A similar cloth covering Reagan revealed the other half, most likely used in an attempt to try to help the two wounded men keep some of their body heat.

If the situation hadn't looked so grim, the senior SHIELD agent would have been amused; it had to have been a dire situation indeed for Hartwell to have given up his favorite good luck charm. The larger man had taken to carrying it with him on missions in the event of an emergency, and the thick weave seemed to provide as good a protection as most of the emergency first aid blankets Coulson had used in the past.

On the down side, it could also mean that Hartwell thought Sitwell and Reagan needed all the luck they could get to survive this mess.

"What's their status?" Coulson asked the lead medic, attempting to get close without getting in their way as they strapped the two agents in for the medevac. "These are the only two critically wounded, correct?"

"Affirmative, sir." The medic nodded as he looked up at the veteran agent. "They're hypothermic with severe trauma- Reagan's got heavy blood loss, and Sitwell's wound is showing signs of becoming septic. Blood pressure's low, but we're getting them stabilized. The faster we get them to the carrier, the better."

"Agreed," Coulson commented. He stepped aside as the other injured agents were assisted out of the hole, and turned back to the medic. "Let's get them all to the Quinjet-"

His words were cut off as the ground trembled again. Grabbing onto a nearby column, Coulson steadied himself as the shaking subsided. There was a series of growls, groans, and even a hideous giggle or two emanating from the section of flooring just north of the hole created by the Destroyer Gun.

Several more infected test subjects began crawling out of the new opening. A second tremor shook the area, along with a loud bellow. The combined SHIELD and Army forces braced themselves for a charge as the rescue team began to hasten their efforts to extract the rest of Strike Teams Echo and Mike.

"Coulson." The agent turned to see Fury staring at him, his eye narrowed. "Remember your promise. We got plenty of firepower here. Or do I need to send you back with the medevac?"

"That won't be necessary, sir," Coulson replied as Natasha approached, her outfit covered by a silver make-shift poncho and her Widow's Bites. "Agent Romanoff. I'm glad to see you're okay."

She nodded. "Where do you need me?"

The senior agent nodded towards Fury. "He may need a hand talking to Barton. Clint's been, ah…"

"Damn," Natasha cursed, muttering in Russian as she moved to join Fury.

"Just how many of these things _are_ there?" one of the agents muttered as the armed agents and soldiers began to advance on the creatures.

A large, oversized hand reached up from the opening, grabbing onto a nearby girder. The skin was a pale, nearly lavender shade, with dirt and filth covering most of the joints. A closer look showed it to be nearly the size of the Hulk's meaty fists.

Nearby, Hooch gaped at it, uttering a curse as he dropped the piece of metal he had been examining. _"_What. The_. Fuck."_

"Get the wounded out of here, now!" Coulson ordered, turning to the rescue team. Moving closer to the rest of the agents as they prepared to cover the retreat, he quickly clapped Oyuki on the arm. "Change of plans, agent. I think we're going to need that weapon again."

"_Uh, sir- you may wanna get out of the way. The thing's making a hole near Quadrant Fi-" _Hawkeye's tense voice cried over Fury's earpiece, followed by a grunt. _"Gonna try to slow him down a little!"_

The agents scattered as the monstrous creature lifted itself up over the edge of the opening. It twisted, reaching behind its back for something as it climbed. With a loud gurgle, it spun around and finally reached the small shape clinging to its back.

Fury nearly dropped his pistol in surprise, recognizing the figure. "Hawkeye…that is _not_ slowing him down, you dumbass!"

Hawkeye had been dragged upwards with the creature, having sunk his weapon nearly to the hilt in the creature's back. The behemoth reached again, finally grabbing hold of the archer's belt and tossing him like a rag doll. He flew through the air, tumbling several times before sliding to a halt in front of the mission leaders.

"_Frankie?" _Hooch glanced down at the groaning agent, his eyes widened in surprise. "You're supposed to be _dead_, son."

"Uh, yeah. I get that a lot," Hawkeye panted, looking back up at the Delta soldier. "Well, the rumors of my death...have been greatly...exaggerated. How's the wife?"

"Hell if I know. She dumped me 'bout ten years ago."

Barton winced. "Aw damn - sorry to hear that. She was a bitch anyway, you-"

"If you two are _done_," Fury interrupted, his gaze focusing on the oncoming behemoth, "I think we've got more pressing concerns?"

"_Right_," the archer replied, shifting himself up until he was sitting up and rubbing his neck. "The big guy."

Hawkeye grabbed onto Hooch's outstretched hand, pulling himself to his feet. He wavered for a moment, turning to Coulson and Fury. "I need my rifle."

Coulson spoke into his radio quickly, calling for a junior agent to make a trip to the equipment truck, watching in concern as Hawkeye staggered, leaning over a pile of debris, and vomited. "Hawkeye, do you need medical attention?"

"I'm good, sir," Barton replied, leaning over to catch his breath. He waved off Natasha, who watched him with concern. "Just… hit my head in the cave-in. Think it's finally catching up to me. I'll be alright."

"Damn it, Barton, get-" Fury began, jumping away from a thrown piece of lumber.

They watched from cover as the creature shrugged off round after round, the bullets made ineffective by the armor plating that had grown on the creature's limbs and torso. One small group of agents approached, trying to draw the creature away from their leaders, backing off as another team moved in to repeat the maneuver. It growled as it lumbered towards each new annoyance.

"This is getting us nowhere, sir," Coulson complained, "except out of ammunition."

"We'll see about that." Colonel Rhodes strode forward, several weapons rising out of his armor from hidden compartments. "You boys better take cover. Hooch? Give me some cover fire!"

The soldier's face bore a feral grin. "You heard the Colonel, boys- _light 'im up!_"

Several of the barrels began to move, adjusting their aim as the suit's targeting system locked on to the behemoth. While the Iron Man suit had been designed for speed, agility, and energy weapons, the War Machine suit had been modified with pure firepower in mind. As the agents and several nearby personnel moved towards cover, Rhodes opened fire on the giant zombie, drawing its attention.

The large caliber rounds began to push it back, forcing the zombie to step backwards as they impacted its chest. While small pockmarks began appearing in the thick chest plates, they failed to penetrate the armor. As it charged towards Rhodey, he fired his repulsors, leaping up and twisting around to land behind the zombie.

"Hey, ugly!" the Colonel shouted in challenge, beckoning to it. "That's right, big boy- this way. Everyone else make sure you're behind some cover- I'm gonna try the heavy artillery."

Leading the zombie further back into the more open area of the parking lot, Rhodey fired again, this time with single shots. As they moved away from the SHIELD personnel, he gave another whoop. "Fire in the hole!"

"_Uh, Rhodey- you _did_ test it, right?"_ Stark's voice asked in trepidation. _"Please work… please work…"_

A small launcher popped up over the right shoulder armor of Rhodes' suit, containing a miniature black and purple rocket. With a hiss, it launched towards the zombie. Upon striking the creature's chest, a loud boom sounded as flames engulfed it.

Rhodes cursed as he watched the zombie fall, knocked back by the force of the blast. It sat up, shaking its head and wiping soot off of its face. As the creature stood, it bellowed loudly with rage.

The SHIELD senior agents cursed as it turned and began heading their way again. A closer look showed the agents the thick, now blackened armored plates that had grown along each arm and back. Several gashes bled from where Hawkeye had slashed with his blade, trying to slow down the creature by attacking its joints. The hilt of the sword still protruded from thin gap in the armor where he had sunk the blade in between the shoulders.

As the creature began to tear at the wreckage in an attempt to reach for the agents, another roar caught its attention. Looking up, its eyes narrowed at the approaching shape. A shadow grew larger on the ground as the soldiers and agents again scattered.

Its advance was halted by a flattened jeep slamming into it, courtesy of the Hulk. The large, green former physicist roared in anger, matching it size for size. Swinging his improvised weapon again, Banner swiped at the creature again, forcing it back and away from the SHIELD agents and Delta soldiers.

An almost musical tone filled the air, causing the nearby teams to duck. A small, metallic object struck the monster in the forehead with a _clang, _sounding nearly like a clapper striking a bell. The behemoth was forced back as the hammer whirled backwards, returning to its owner.

Thor bellowed out a war cry, pointing the hammer at the zombie. Storm clouds circled overhead as the Asgardian moved in to flank his enemy, ducking as the Hulk hammered again at the creature with the rapidly disintegrating vehicle. Once the last of the undercarriage had torn off, it was tossed aside unceremoniously.

The Hulk and Thor worked seamlessly, hammering away at the "juggernaut" and displaying the same teamwork they had used to combat the leviathans that had flown through the city during the Battle of Manhattan. Finally outmatched, it began backing away, forced back by the duo. A barrage from War Machine chipped away at it, the officer cursing as the high-caliber rounds continued to show little effect.

A high pitched whine rose from a nearby pile of rubble as Oyuki charged the Destroyer Gun. The demolitions expert hissed as a piece of rebar nearly pierced his arm. He frowned, looking over at Coulson. "Shit, sir- they're all over the place. I can't get a clean shot!"

"Keep trying, Oyuki- if the big guys can't take it down, that may be the only chance we've got," the veteran field agent ordered, watching the melee intently. "Be ready for them to knock it back or something- that'll give you a window."

The younger agent nearly growled in frustration; the Destroyer Gun was a powerful weapon, but at close range it could do as much damage to their allies as it would their target. Another howl drew his attention back to the battle, where he continued to wait for the right opportunity. The Gun nearly hummed in anticipation.

It dug its heels in, snarling defiantly. In a surprise maneuver, it reached for a nearby pole, swinging it upwards in burst of speed. The pole struck Thor across the jaw with a _crack_, hurling the large warrior backwards and into the rubble. With a renewed vigor, it went on the attack, swinging its weapon at the Hulk.

Hulk growled, raising his fists and bringing them down on the ground. A large wave rolled outwards, disturbing and shaking the ground. As the zombie wobbled, dropping its weapons, the large green Avenger charged forward, punching with each fist repeatedly and following up with a right cross.

The soldiers watched the battle, jaws hanging in awe. They had heard stories of the Hulk's savage rages, but there was nothing like that displayed here. While his attacks usually tended to be improvised and chaotic, this time they seemed somewhat focused in an effort to keep the battle contained.

"Barton?" Fury asked hesitantly, activating his comm. "_Please_ tell me you didn't teach the Hulk boxing techniques."

"_I didn't,"_ the archer replied from behind the group, having crawled up on top of the backhoe after receiving his rifle case.

The SHIELD Director scowled again as he watched Barton assemble his rifle. "Right. Because Captain Rogers leads with his left on that right cross combo."

Barton's voice was full of suppressed humor when he replied. _"Now, I taught _Bruce_ a few things. Not my fault it carried over."_

"Barton, I thought we were done with that suicidal crap?" Fury replied with a warning tone.

"_Nobody else'll practice with him."_ The archer knelt down, flicking the cover off of his scope and racking back the bolt to load the high-powered rifle. _"Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I have an appointment with a pair of eyeballs."_

Fury sighed, wondering why he even tried sometimes.

A sharp _crack_ sounded, followed by a wail as the zombie clutched at its face. Hulk took advantage of the distraction and began another set of strikes, aiming at its midsection. Another report from the rifle had it shuffling backwards, its other eye destroyed. Thor, having recovered from the zombie's assault, re-joined the battle, hammering away at the creature.

"_Jesus, Barton! What the hell is _with_ you and eyeballs!"_ Stark's voice shrieked. _"That is just… just wrong, in so many ways!"_

"_If you can manage to spot a more vulnerable target area with a more advantageous wound result," _Barton argued, _"I would be more than happy to change it up. Until then, pipe down, Iron Crab."_

Fury looked over, spotting the missing Twin standing nearby. Sanders clutched the drone to his chest as he watched nervously. His brother began running towards them, calling his name.

War Machine zipped around the area, staying out of the way of the Hulk and coordinating his attacks with Thor. As the Asgardian warrior continued to strike at its weaker points, Rhodes began firing some of his heavier weaponry again in hopes of overwhelming it. The combination attacks slowly began to wear at the creature's resolve, and its counter-attacks began to slow.

"_Enough!"_ Thor shouted, twirling Mjolnir and rising into the air.

"And now for the finale," Coulson commented wryly, shielding his eyes.

Thunder began to rumble above them, followed by droplets of rain. The wind picked up, hurling smaller bits of debris into the air. Shielding their faces with their arms, the agents and soldiers watched in fascination as lightning gathered around the hammer. The Asgardian aimed Mjolnir at the zombie, firing a powerful lightning bolt. It struck between the shoulder blades, drawn by the metal of the sword still embedded in its back.

Thor continued to hold the lightning, keeping the power flowing from the sky and down to the impromptu lightning rod. Electricity coursed throughout its body, crackling as the creature howled in pain. Finally, it fell to its knees, letting out a whimper before falling forward. The body smoked and smoldered from the overpowered bolt.

"Oyuki," Fury called, waving the agent forward. "Now might be a good time for that double-tap. Make sure it can't get back up."

Oyuki nodded, jogging forward to comply with the order. They heard the familiar _bbrongg_ as he fired.

Hulk walked over to the corpse, frowning. He poked at it with a finger, jerking it back quickly as it was zapped by residual electricity. With a scoff, the green behemoth kicked the body in contempt. "Ugly fucker."

The agents, hearing the curse, all swung their heads towards Barton, who shrugged sheepishly.

"Sir- I can, uh…" Barton wobbled slightly, shuddering as he tried to climb down from his perch. He wavered again, dropping his rifle and coughing severely. Holding his hand out, he looked down and back up at Fury, his eyes stricken. "Sir?"

Before he could fall, Natasha moved in, catching his shoulders and pulling him down gently. "Clint? Relax- we're getting the medics.

Fury and Coulson waved the others back, rushing forward. They reached Barton, catching him as he began to tremble. Thor and the Hulk approached, along with several other agents.

Catching sight of a discoloration, Coulson knelt down, ignoring the damp ground. He reached out and gently turned Barton's head towards him, nearly hissing in dismay. A dark, oily substance had splashed the wound on his forehead, possibly when the over-sized zombie had dragged Hawkeye with it through the ceiling.

"Barton. _Please_ tell me that's not what I think it is," Coulson asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Fury glanced at the wound, his eyes widening. "Shit."

"G-get back, s-sir." Barton gasped, his shoulders shaking as the convulsing began. "Tasha- back away. Now."

"Barton? Focus on me," Fury ordered, unsure if he should let go or continue to hold on. "You're gonna be fine."

With a trembling hand, Barton reached over to Coulson's belt, snatching the radio and keying up the mike before the other agent could stop him. "C-code Tango Seven, a-authorization seven-twelve-alpha. You've got t-twenty seconds. Maybe more in my case, but don't take more than s-sixty seconds."

* * *

Agent Princese blinked in surprise, leaning back from his scope. "Sir? R-repeat the order, sir."

Hawkeye couldn't be serious. He had thought the older agent was teasing him when Barton had pulled him aside during his weapon familiarization training several months ago, asking him if he would agree to one of the oddest protocols that Princese had ever encountered.

Until today, that was. But still… what amounted to a self-termination protocol was nothing to joke about.

Hawkeye had called it a Code Tango Seven Protocol. He had agreed at the time since it seemed silly; what reason would there ever be for a senior field operative to order his own termination? But Barton had seemed so serious at the time, and the man had saved him from the hell of loneliness that his unit had become.

"_Why me?" he asked, watching the grim look on the older agent's face. "I…I'm a junior agent, sir. This is… what you're asking me to do is insane!"_

_Barton stared at him calmly before answering. "Don't play dumb with me, kid. Look, I know it's a shitty thing to ask, but the thing of it is… nobody else'll do it. I'm dead serious. At least, nobody that's skilled enough to do the job."_

"_And you think I can? Uh, do the job, sir?"_

_The archer grimaced. "It's not just that you can, soldier. It's that you _will_. I know your record- about what you did for your squad mate. Mercy kills are no joke, and I know it hurts having to live with it afterwards."_

"_So how can you ask me to do it again? How do you know it'll ever be needed?" Princese asked angrily, whirling back from the direction he had been pacing anxiously. "I don't even know why you want this, sir."_

"_Compromised," Hawkeye said quietly, looking down at his feet. "It's such a clean word for an ugly situation. The last time I was compromised, I attacked and nearly destroyed the Helicarrier. Today, they still won't tell me how many deaths I'm responsible for, not that I haven't already found out using my own personal methods. I have done some truly rotten things when I've been compromised, kid- I can't let it happen again."_

_Barton looked up, his gaze growing intense as he repeated himself. "I can't let it happen again. I _won't_."_

"_So what does that have to do with me?" the younger sniper asked. _

"_It has everything to do with you," Barton scoffed. "Coulson, Romanoff… even Fury. All of them, I can't count on to take the shot without hesitation. They hide it well, but they care too much. If they hesitate for too long, it might be too late."_

"_But sir…"_

"_There's a reason I asked you, Princese." Barton straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to make it my personal goal to make sure you've got enough skills to do it. And I know that when the time comes where you have to choose whether or not to take the shot, you'll do the right thing. Now, let's move on to the M21 Sniper Weapon System rifle- one of my personal favorites."_

Barton had met with him at least once or twice a week at the SHIELD firing range after that, helping him fine-tune his marksmanship; the archer had provided stationary and moving targets, popped balloons and made other assorted distractions. The veteran field agent had taken what the Army had taught him and made him _better._

Princese hadn't been sure until now whether or not the extra training had been intended for Barton to pass on his legendary marksmanship skills, or for Barton to ensure that the younger agent wouldn't miss when the time came to take him down.

"_It's t-too late, sir. N-not as f-fast as the others,"_ Hawkeye was saying over the comms, his breathing becoming more labored. _"But I can _f-feel_ it."_

The junior agent watched the seizing agent clutch at his partner's coat, no doubt given to her by another agent. Hawkeye removed his safety glasses and pressed his forehead to hers, speaking quietly before she shook her head vehemently.

Focusing his scope lens, he watched the archer lean back, releasing Romanoff's coat as he sank back into the debris pile he had been leaning against. Barton's eyes had become bloodshot, the irises slowly reddening as he looked back up at the others. For some reason, the process was slower than the others they had been briefed about, but Barton was turning.

Tightening his grip on his rifle, Princese made his decision.

* * *

"You are not going to go through with it, Barton," Romanoff demanded, her eyes stricken. "Call him off, Clint! If you don't, I will!"

"Y-you can't, Tasha," Barton choked, shuddering in pain. "You know that. I'm compromised. Dangerous now. _Infected_."

"B-but the vaccine," she pleaded, her voice quieting. "There's a chance you won't turn-"

"Look a-at me, Nat," the archer ordered, gripping her borrowed jacket. He pulled off his glasses, showing her his bloodshot eyes. "_Look_. The vaccine's not working, Nat. I'm done."

She pressed her forehead to his, looking into his eyes as she spoke quietly. "I can't lose you. I can't. We're not ready…"

"It's t-too late. N-not as f-fast as the others," Hawkeye repeated. "But I can _f-feel_ it."

The redhead took his hand. "But-"

"Nat," he said softly, almost pleading with her. "You k-know I've been ready for s-six years now. You have to let me go. D-don't forget- I've seen how this goes. I won't be _me_ anymore. _Please._"

Natasha gave him a betrayed look, allowing him to sink back into the pile. She fell to her knees, holding his gloved hand tightly. The sniper that Clint had trained had hidden himself well; Fury and the others still hadn't located him yet. Knowing her partner, they wouldn't find the agent if he didn't want to be found.

Coulson had paled, barking orders into his radio while the others watched on sadly, torn between trying to move closer and obeying the order to give them room.

_I'm not going anywhere,_ her stoic gaze told him. _You won't be alone._

_"Do it!"_ Hawkeye closed his eyes, waiting for the shot.

"Damn it, Clint!" Fury swore, glancing around frantically in search of the hidden sniper. "This is Director Fury. Whoever you are, don't you even think about taking that shot!"

Another _crack_ pierced the air just as Fury finished speaking.

The bullet never arrived. Pinging wildly, the shot bounced off a large, green back, landing harmlessly in the dirt. Hulk loomed protectively over the now convulsing archer, holding Barton to his chest tightly. He stepped back, glaring at the gathering agents and soldiers with a look of betrayal.


End file.
